


Wolf Like Me

by femmejolras



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky and Steve don't know each other before the 21st century, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rating for later chapters, Slow Build, Steve and matt are on Team Too-Stubborn-To-Function, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, everyone is out to get Bucky basically, in this house we refuse to acknowledge endgame, mostly based on new Winter Soldier comics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18822142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmejolras/pseuds/femmejolras
Summary: Bucky is a fixer. Or, at least, he usually is, except when Matt ropes Sharon into roping Bucky into helping a client.AKA an AU based on the new Winter Soldier comics, in which Steve and Bucky never knew each other until the 21st century and also Steve is from the 21st century. Get ready for canon to be blatantly ignored!Title from "Wolf Like Me" by TV on the Radio.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "The truth is that I never shook my shadow  
> And every day it's trying to trick me into doing battle  
> Calling out "faker" only get me rattled  
> Want to pull me back behind the fence with the cattle"
> 
> ("Truth" by Alexander)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you think I can make it?  
> I know I'm six feet away but  
> I could get overlooked
> 
> 'Cause I feel like I'm broken but I never got a reason  
> So I'm gonna jump, I'm gonna push myself until I get hospitalized"
> 
> ("Hospitalized" by Broods)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First lines (in italics) are from the first issue of this current run of the Winter Soldier comic!

_My name is Bucky Barnes. Some people call me the Winter Soldier._

_I’ve done a lot of bad things. And those things don’t go away, even after you get a pardon from the government for fighting Hydra. Nothing can ever undo what I’ve done._

_But maybe I can keep other people from ending up like me._

 

~~~

 

He wrote the same lines down every day he woke up in his own room, which was more often now than ever before. Sometimes, when his had his journal on the road with him, he’d write it whenever he felt like he didn’t deserve this freedom, this life. It kept him sane. It kept him going.

It kept him doing the work he needed to be doing.

He repeated the words in his mind, too. They reminded me him of his humanity when the soldier part of him enjoyed the bloodshed too much, looked upon corpses with a sharp grin, felt proud of the violence his hands could still carry out. That part of him didn’t care that he wasn’t Hydra anymore, didn’t care whether he was a good guy or a bad guy or just a guy—it was a glutton for gore and there was no escaping that.

But he was Bucky Barnes. He was making the world better. He was helping people, and he only hurt when necessary, avoided killing as much as he possibly could. He’d rather die himself than take another life. Not a lot of people understood that feeling.

“JUST KILL THEM,” the guy he was currently trying to help shouted. Bucky couldn’t blame him. If he was this guy (if he hadn’t been through everything he’d been through), he’d want these hired guns dead, too. But it wasn’t like that anymore. The mission was a rescue, not an elimination. So, Bucky ignored the pleas of the guy—his name was something like Carl or Kevin—and kept sprinting through the apartment complex, practically dragging him.

It wasn’t an eventful mission, nothing interesting to report. They found got out of the apartment without so much as maiming a single hostile, swerved through the rain-slick streets of the city—Detroit? Cincinnati? Bucky had lost track—and shook the tails that had been following them, then got out unharmed. Carl/Kevin/the guy was in his new home—a little two-bedroom on the outskirts of the outskirts of Louisville—in the morning, and Bucky was back in Shelbyville for lunch. 

It was routine. Bucky liked routine. Bucky _needed_ routine.

“This one is a break in routine,” Sharon informed him about ten minutes after he stepped through the door. He withheld an involuntary groan by way of response. “I know it’s a really quick turnaround, but its urgent.” 

“Mhm.” Bucky poured himself a glass of water and chugged, already going through a mental checklist of what he’d need to do to prep. Refuel the bike, grab more ammo from the garage, he didn’t think he’d have time for a shower if it was an emergency. 

“A lawyer, Matt Murdock, reached out to me,” Sharon began, and Bucky _knew_ that name already, it rung so many bells it felt like he had tinnitus. “It’s his client. Apparently, he picked some fights he wasn’t equipped for. There’s too much heat in the city and Mr. Murdock doesn’t trust the local PD for protection, so—”

“So, I’m extracting him?” It didn’t seem that far off from protocol, until Sharon shook her head.

“He can’t leave the city,” she said. “He has to be at the trial. You’ve just got to keep him on the DL and help with bringing him to and from court.”

“Okay, so he’s testifying, then?”

“Well, not exactly,” Sharon murmured, and Bucky knew what she was going to say as soon as she frowned and looked away. “He’s _on_ trial. That’s why Mr. Murdock is his lawyer.”

“I’m liking this less and less,” Bucky confessed. “Where is he, anyway?” Sharon gave an awkward laugh and Bucky grimaced. “Oh no, where am I going?”

“New York City.”

 

~~~

 

Maybe the worst part of this mission was the fact that Bucky had had to fly on a plane instead of driving over, because it was just _that_ urgent. Mercifully, Sharon had mentioned it to Stark and Stark had sent his private jet down, which meant that Bucky didn’t have to sit wedged between other sweating bodies in a tin can. He’d never gotten used to flying, not really.

He’d still had to navigate his way through an airport (if he never had to see the inside of another airport, he’d die a happy man) in a too-stuffy hoodie, though, because Stark did sometimes like to make him suffer. He basically held his breath the entire time, letting it out when he pushed his way towards a relatively empty part of baggage claim. Only then did he notice the chubby man standing near one of the exits, looking supremely uncomfortable, holding a sign that read “Barnes” in very messy handwriting. 

Bucky took stock of the situation, trying to deem threat levels, checking if this was some sort of setup, but… nothing pointed to this guy being a hostile, and even if he was, Bucky was 110% sure he could take him and spare any kind of civilian injuries at the same time without breaking a sweat. He made his way over, and the man didn’t even notice him until he was just a few paces away. Definitely not a threat. 

“Mr. Barnes! Hi, hello, nice to meet you,” he stammered, lowering the sign and offering his other hand to shake. Bucky glanced at it, resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow, and shook his hand, trying not to squeeze too tightly. Still the other man pulled his hand back after a moment with a slightly pained laugh. “Quite a handshake you have there.” A moment of silence—or as much silence as is possible in LaGuardia’s baggage claim on a Monday evening—washed over them. “OH!” the man shouted, and Bucky almost jumped. “I’m Foggy Nelson of Nelson and Murdock, the ones who brought you out here.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Nelson,” Bucky managed.

“Oh, man, no, Mr. Nelson is my _dad_ ,” he laughed. “Call me Foggy.”

“Foggy,” Bucky repeated. It was a strange name. Mr. Nelson— _Foggy_ —wasn’t like any lawyers he’d ever met before. Foggy nodded and laughed again.

“I’m sorry, this is just so cool,” he admitted. “You know, I used to play with your action figures. And then when you first got out of Hydra and there were all the legal battles in the government, Matt and I couldn’t stop talking about it. Whenever we weren’t working on a case, it was just nonstop—” Foggy stopped midway through his sentence. “This is weird, I’m being weird. We should go.”

It was definitely weird, but Bucky didn’t say anything. He followed Foggy out of the airport and away from the crowds (thank god) and tried not to wonder if they were on his side before the government decided to pardon him.

 

 ~~~

 

Foggy took him straight to Mr. Murdock’s apartment, where the client was being held (he would need to discuss proper methods of establishing safehouses as soon as possible). The car they left in was clearly expensive, even for a lawyer and especially for a defense attorney, and it turned out that it was actually one of Tony’s, gifted to Nelson and Murdock as a company car. Bucky would need to talk to Sharon about divulging privileged information to Tony.

“Just so you know, Matt’s apartment is really bright,” Foggy warned, still catching his breath from the stairs, as he unlocked the door. Bucky wasn’t sure why that needed to be mentioned until he walked in and saw exactly what Foggy meant. Pink neon lights cascaded into the dim apartment, which was only lit from the inside by a small lamp. Although Bucky could still see the room clearly, he wondered how anyone—super soldier or not—could live like this. And then Mr. Murdock rounded the corner, dark glasses covering his eyes, and though he navigated his apartment with ease, Bucky knew that lighting didn’t matter much to a blind man.

“Mr. Barnes,” Mr. Murdock greeted, his voice warm. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You too, Mr. Murdock,” Bucky answered as Foggy shut the door behind them and crossed the room to join his partner.

“Please, call me Matt,” he smiled. “Foggy and I have been impressed with your work in the Midwest, helping people find new lives and reform. I’m glad you were able to find some time to help us here.”

“No trouble,” Bucky responded reflexively, scanning the apartment. “Where’s the client?”

“Here,” a gruff voice supplied, and Bucky glanced into the dark behind the lawyers to find a fit, tall blond emerging from the bathroom, his hair wet. Bucky didn’t often have… _unprofessional_ thoughts about the people around him—he only had professional colleagues these days—but… Well, it took all of his training to avoid ogling this man, maintaining his composure and falling back on his soldier’s mind. “Steve Rogers.” He passed by the Foggy and Matt, situating himself between them and Bucky, and held his hand out to shake. Bucky complied, holding back only to find that Rogers was just as strong as he was. He checked himself and the shocked expression he must have worn for a second.

“Bucky Barnes.” He let a moment pass, forming a game plan, then opened his mouth only to be cut off.

“We should head to a different location,” Rogers decided, stepping back so that he could look at the entire group. “Matt, I’m thankful you let me stay here, but it’s not secure.”

“I agree,” Matt said, because apparently Bucky served no tactical purpose here.

“ _Outside_ of Hell’s Kitchen,” Bucky interjected. “My associate has a safehouse ready—

“He stays in Hell’s Kitchen,” Matt decided. His voice was still just as calm as before, but there was an edge to it now, a danger that set Bucky on edge.

“We should get him as far away from—”

“I have resources here, who can help protect him. Who _have_ been protecting him,” Matt nearly shouted. He paused and recomposed himself while Foggy frowned. Steve looked between Bucky and Matt before his expression turned into stony resolve.

“I’m staying in Hell’s Kitchen,” Steve confirmed. The only one in the room who looked remotely sympathetic to Bucky’s plight was Foggy. Bucky wanted to ask why any of them decided to bring him in if they were going to ignore everything he already had to say, if there was already protection, if there was already a plan, if he served zero purpose except to be contradicted. Instead, he let out a long sigh.

“Fine,” he gritted out. “Let me make the arrangements.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” Matt responded, a devilish smile on his lips, and Bucky turned away and stepped into the hall just to avoid punching a blind man.

 

~~~

 

Sharon, to Bucky’s dismay, was amused by the catastrophe of the safehouse situation. She said a break in routine was never a bad thing, and that it would be a gift to work with some more capable people this time around. Bucky did not agree. Sharon did, in fact, find a safehouse in Hell’s Kitchen, and it would only take an hour or two to get setup, so that was something of a gift. Bucky took a few minutes after getting off the phone to take some deep breaths, to remember that this—this mission, this job, this life—wasn’t about him. It was about helping people. He would help Steve Rogers, even if it would probably get him killed.

With a restored sense of calm, Bucky entered the apartment again, only to find Foggy cooking something on the stove while Matt and Steve sat on the couch, talking in hushed tones. Bucky knew very little about cooking, but he would much rather pass the time with Foggy than the two stubborn guys with a hero complex on the couch.

“Oh, hey,” Foggy greeted, though his voice was tentative, as though he wasn’t sure if the next thing he said would send Bucky running for the hills.

“Hi.” Bucky glanced into the pot Foggy was stirring and couldn’t help but laugh when he saw what was inside. “Is that mac and cheese?” 

“I’ll have you know,” Foggy started, mock-defensive, “that mac and cheese is a delicacy that I am incredibly skilled at making. Matt would be dead by now if it hadn’t been for my mac and cheese skills during college.”

“Would not,” Matt shouted from the couch, and Steve snickered. 

“He totally would,” Foggy whispered conspiratorially. “See, this is also how I wooed him. He couldn’t see my devastatingly handsome face, so I had to win him over with the scent and flavor of this to-die-for mac and cheese."

“I can tell that it’s just from a box, Foggy,” Matt called.

“Witchcraft!” Foggy cried, practically beaming. Bucky envied them and their easy banter. He knew he would never have that. He’d accepted it long ago. He glanced between Matt and Foggy, only to catch Steve’s eye. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, and Bucky was shocked to find a look that must have mirrored his own just a moment ago, like Steve felt the same way. Like Steve understood.

He looked away and reminded himself that that wasn’t possible.

They ate dinner—hearty portions of admittedly good mac and cheese—in Matt’s living room. Matt and Foggy spent almost the entire time bickering or recalling increasingly embarrassing stories from law school. It was strange to see Matt like this, when he had been so firm, so aggressive, not long before. Bucky wasn’t sure that he could trust the lawyer. Too much about him and his behavior was suspicious.

Bucky remained silent, content to observe, during dinner, as did Steve. It wasn’t until Foggy and Matt got up to take their dishes away that Steve looked back at Bucky.

“They’re good guys,” he murmured, startling Bucky with his intuition. “No one else was willing to help me in this city, except for them. They’re just—like that. Money and reputation don’t matter to them. They just want to help people.”

There was so much about those statements that Bucky didn’t like. There was the implication that they were exactly like Bucky—so what skeletons were in their closets? There was some mystery about their motivation, then, if they weren’t doing this solely out of the kindness of their hearts—what did they desire? Worst of all was the question that had been in Bucky’s mind since Sharon first told him about this mission.

What if Steve wasn’t one of the good guys?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to keep updating relatively often!! Let me know how you felt about this chapter in the comments!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, you don't know my mind  
> You don't know my kind  
> Dark necessities are part of my design  
> Tell the world that I'm falling from the sky  
> Dark necessities are part of my design"
> 
> ("Dark Necessities" by Red Hot Chili Peppers")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support on the last chapter!! I super appreciate it <3

The safehouse was only a few blocks away, far too close to their original location—and, apparently, the lawyers’ office—for Bucky’s comfort. They left just before the streets started thinning out, allowing them at least a bit of a crowd to duck into. Bucky always came prepared for subterfuge, but Steve had clearly never heard of subtly in his life. The best they could manage was grabbing an old, worn-out cap from Matt’s drawers, which looked ridiculous at this time of night. Bucky let Steve walk a few paces ahead, more content to watch him from the back where he could see most attacks coming. He kept an eyes on rooftops and watched the alleyways they passed. If his eyes wandered at all to Steve’s broad shoulders or firm—well, no one noticed, and Bucky was quick to correct himself.

They were in the fifth floor of a walk up. Not great by way of security—no alarms in the building, simple key lock at main entrance—but it would have to do. All of the other apartments on the floor were vacant, which was a blessing. One window connected to a fire escape and rooftop access. That was boarded up pretty quickly. Deadbolt on the door, just enough to slow someone down a bit. It wasn’t a vault and Bucky wouldn’t be resting easy in here, but it was good for such short notice.

“I can take the couch,” Steve announced, tossing his leather jacket onto one of the cushions and letting his duffel drop to the floor. Bucky hadn’t even noticed the furniture in his sweep.

“Have the bed,” he said, still trying to find other ways to secure the place. “I won’t be sleeping.”

“Is that a good idea?” Steve asked. Bucky tried not to laugh. Most people he worked with nowadays didn’t ask any questions, especially when they found out Bucky was willing to be their watchdog.

“There’s no other way.” Bucky peeked into the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find it without a window. He turned around to find Steve frowning, still standing in the middle of the room, his t-shirt pulled ridiculously tight around his chest. “It’s fine, big guy, I’m used to it.” That only made Steve’s frown deepen, though this time he glanced down at himself and seemed to try to make himself smaller. Not usual for someone with a build like him.

“I can take some watches. We can take turns,” Steve suggested. Bucky would have been annoyed if this hadn’t been the first time in recent history someone had thought about Bucky’s health, Bucky’s comfort.

“Only if I get tired,” he conceded, though he wouldn’t be giving up his watch, at least not that night. After all, the serum let him function past normal human capabilities. 

“Good,” Steve grinned. Bucky felt himself falter, thoughts of security emptying from his mind at the sight of Steve Rogers’s smile, so warm and kind and—

“You should get some sleep,” Bucky blurted, wishing he was anywhere except stuck in this apartment. Steve smirked, and Bucky wished he could spontaneously combust. 

“It’s nine in the evening, Mr. Barnes.” There was something teasing in his voice, something he wanted desperately to coax out. But he didn’t do that anymore. He wasn’t—his second chance was for helping other people, not letting himself have whatever this was.

“Early bird catches the worm,” Bucky tried, his traitorous voice climbing in pitch. Steve’s smirk grew sharper, his eyes crinkling around the edges in a frustratingly adorable display. Thankfully, Steve didn’t say anything, just sauntered back to the couch and pulled a beaten paperback out of his duffel. Bucky’s legs refused to move, the sight of Steve sprawled on the couch, so quickly engrossed in whatever that book was, trapping him in place. This was going to be a long night.

 

~~~

 

Eventually, Bucky convinced his legs to take him to an armchair in the corner of the room and bribed his eyes into watching the door if only because it let him catch small glimpses of Steve out of the corner of his eye. He was watching the client, that’s what this was. Nothing more than watching the client. That seemed more important for this mission than others, considering he still didn’t know what Steve was on trial for or who wanted him gone.

It was after two when he could feel his eyes growing heavy. There had been no rest since his last mission, barely even time to catch his breath.

“How’d you end up in this line of work, Mr. Barnes?” Steve asked. Bucky hadn’t even realized he was still awake. He barely sounded tired—it was unfair.

“Long story,” he answered curtly. 

“Got nothing but time,” Steve countered. Bucky looked over at him to find another smile. That smile was going to drive him insane and kill him, he was sure. 

“Right,” he murmured, sitting up a little straighter, rubbing some of the sleep from his eyes. “Uhm, I guess it starts… a while ago.”

“The Winter Soldier, thing, right?” Steve asked. Of course. Bucky still wasn’t used to everyone knowing his story. It was unsettling. 

“Yeah, all of that,” he agreed. “I guess… after the trials and the pardons and everything, I wanted a quiet life. I was tired of it all. I made it about a week before I got restless,” Bucky admitted, which got him a grunt of a laugh from Steve. “I guess I just felt like there was no way I’d get a second chance just for being me. There had to be some reason. As I started remembering more of my time as the Winter Soldier, I began to realize that many of the people I had known in… in one capacity or another—they didn’t want to participate. So, I figured I would give them some second chances, too.” 

Bucky’s gaze had dropped to the floor while he spoke, too nervous to look Steve in the eye for some stupid reason, but as the silence kept going without end, he finally glanced up. Steve’s smile was gone, replaced with a look of pity. No, not pity, Bucky realized, but _sympathy_.

“That’s all noble, Mr. Barnes,” Steve began, his voice quiet, “but you deserve a second chance to just _be_ , too. No strings attached.” Bucky was stunned into silence, feeling like he’d been slapped and bear-hugged all at once. 

“All respect, Mr. Rogers,” Bucky stated, vulnerability drained from his words, “but you don’t know me.”

“I don’t have to,” Steve breathed without the decency of looking even minorly offended by Bucky’s harshness. Bucky didn’t say anything to that, let the words fall into the silence between them, rejecting their existence. Steve didn’t know him. No one looked at Bucky and saw a guy capable of leaving the field, doing whatever he wanted. Bucky was a soldier, even before Hydra snapped him up, and he would die a soldier. Anyway, Bucky didn’t know Steve. Steve could be a villain for all he knew, some crazed psychopath trying to manipulate him into—something, unclear what. 

He pushed down the voice that told him he could trust Steve, because he knew Steve was good, even without knowing him. He couldn’t let sentimentality get the best of him, not again. The Soldier was needed now, not the man.

 

~~~

 

He hadn’t even realized that he’d dozed off. He had been watching the door one minute, and the next he was waking up to a clattering from the next room. He jolted upright, grabbing his gun and taking stock of the room. Nothing looked out of place. The door was still shut, deadbolt still locked. The board on the window looked secure. The only thing missing was Steve Rogers.

“Steve,” Bucky called, keeping his voice low just in case someone else had found their way into the apartment. No response. He got up quietly, walking on the balls of his feet, cautiously heading further into the apartment. He pushed the door of the bathroom open and found it just as empty. The only other room was the bedroom. One glance down the short hall revealed an open doorway that had been shut before. Bucky stepped forward, keeping his footsteps as light as he could, readying himself for whatever he was about to find. He was two steps away from the entryway when he heard a creaking. His grip on his gun tightened, his finger pulling the trigger just a little further back. A figure rounded the corner and— 

—And it was Steve Rogers, faint bags under his eyes, now wearing a suit. He stopped short of the barrel of Bucky’s gun, calmly glancing between it and Bucky. Bucky, for his part, sighed and untensed, averting his aim.

“Good morning to you, too, Mr. Barnes,” Steve greeted, a hint of that same smirk in his voice.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bucky whispered angrily, then realized he didn’t have to whisper anymore.

“Getting ready for trial?” Steve answered. Bucky glanced around. It was still dark, there was no way—Oh. The boarded window. A quick peek into the bedroom revealed soft light streaming through the unobscured window. “I didn’t want to wake you,” Steve added, sass evident in his voice. Bucky glared back at him.

“Right. Well, let’s get a move on, then,” Bucky muttered, heading back down the hallway. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t believe Steve had gotten ready without him hearing. What if a threat had gotten through? He would have to do better.

They slipped out of the apartment again, Bucky watching every person who passed by, checking for too-long looks or too-bulky clothes. Steve stuck out like a sore thumb; it would be a wonder if they made it another night without a compromised safehouse. Bucky made a mental note to ask Sharon to have another location on deck, just in case. Maybe if someone broke into this safehouse, Bucky could finally move Steve outside of Hell’s Kitchen. He debated trying to slip away to make it look like someone had broken in but thought better of it. He wasn’t _that_ petty. Usually. 

Thankfully, they only had to make the walk back to Matt’s apartment, where a car was waiting for the lot of them. Matt and Foggy leaned against the side, Foggy reading to Matt from a file before them. Foggy didn’t look up at them until Matt gently elbowed his side, a small motion that Bucky didn’t fail to observe.

“Good morning!” Foggy beamed. “Matt, Steve and Bucky are here." 

“I trust you had an uneventful night,” was Matt’s greeting.

“We were lucky,” Bucky answered. Matt smirked at that but didn’t say anything else. Foggy opened one of the doors and they all piled in, Foggy driving with Matt in the front seat, Bucky and Steve in back.

“Ready for court today?” Steve asked in a voice that one used to talk about the weather or sports. For a guy on trial, he didn’t seem very concerned about the proceedings. 

“Of course,” Matt replied without hesitation. “We just finished reviewing your file again.” 

“We’ve got a strong case,” Foggy continued. “The law is on your side. We just have to make sure a judge and jury see that.” 

“Which shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” Matt finished. “You have a stellar history and you’re clearly on the right side of this. Don’t worry, Steve, this’ll be over before you know it." 

“Thanks, Matt.” Steve took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m just ready to be done.” Foggy nodded and the car fell into silence. Bucky still didn’t know what this trial was about, knew it wasn’t his job to ask, but didn’t think he could trust any of them until he had all the information. He had spent years being programmed not to ask any questions, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t kept a list of his doubts in mind constantly. Now, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to doubt and what he was supposed to trust.

They arrived at the courthouse in silence, parked in silence, walked towards the courtroom in silence. Security guards blocked the entrance, only letting the lawyers and Steve through when they showed their IDs. Matt turned around, arm still hooked with Foggy’s, and frowned.

“You’ll have to stay out here, Mr. Barnes,” he admitted. “I’m afraid this isn’t a public trial. We can handle him in there, just be ready here when we’re done.” Before Bucky could open his mouth—he wasn’t sure what he could say, there was no good protest to that—the door shut and the security guards took their place in front of him. He frowned. Bucky had heard of private trials before, but they weren’t all that common. Maybe if the mafia or a violent gang was involved, or if there were concerns about privacy, or—

Or if there was sensitive information. _Really_ sensitive information.

“I’m sorry, fellas,” Bucky started, managing a small smile for the guards, “but might I ask why this is a closed trial?” They looked between themselves, one frowning and the other giving a shrug. The latter was the first to budge.

“Haven’t you heard?” he asked, incredulous. “State secrets. Rogers is a traitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Please keep giving comments and kudos--I live for those!! I'll try to keep updating regularly as long as there's at least a bit of support <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Cause I'm borderline, mentally unstable  
> Sweep it under the table, yeah  
> And these bedouin eyes  
> We were meant to be in a different time  
> Everything is a warning sign"
> 
> ("Running Scared (Desert Song)" by The Strumbellas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me?? Spending every minute of my free time writing??? PERHAPS
> 
> Again, thanks so much for all of your support <3 I appreciate it a ton, and it's why I keep writing!

_Rogers is a traitor. Rogers is a traitor. Rogers is a traitor._

Bucky had a complicated relationship with his country, that was no secret. He hadn’t really wanted to become a soldier in the ‘40s. He had not planned to die for his country. He had definitely not planned to be picked up, reprogrammed, rebuilt, and made into a soldier, the _ultimate_ soldier, for a different country. He hadn’t even thought about breaking out of those mental bonds and returning to his former homeland, only to be put through a ridiculous amount of trials just to prove that, yes, his body had done some terrible things and, yes, so had part of his mind, a part of his mind that would never go away, but Bucky Barnes would never have done any of it by choice. He never had a choice, not once in his life.

So, yes, complicated relationship. And, yet, he still felt as though he had been betrayed—first by Sharon, who had to have known what was going on, and then by Foggy and Matt and Steve himself. Hell, even Stark had to have known at least a _little_ _bit_ about this situation. Everyone but Bucky knew.

After pacing the block and resisting the urge to punch any walls, though, Bucky tried to re-center himself. He trusted Sharon’s moral code. He sort of trusted Tony’s moral code. Neither of them would endorse this mission if they thought Steve Rogers was a guilty man. Bucky didn’t like not being given all the details. It made for surprises in the field, and surprises in the field were never, ever fun.   

“Tell me everything,” he told Sharon as soon as she picked up. 

“I take it you heard what the trial is about, then?” she sighed. Bucky grunted in response. “Alright. Alright. I’ll send you the full file, as much as I have on him, because I know you’ll want all the details.”

“Good.” Bucky paused. It was one thing to read a file and another to hear from Sharon herself. “Did he do it?” Her silence wasn’t a good sign. 

“He’s a good man,” she answered. Definitely not a good sign. “Read the file, come to your own conclusions. I’m sure you’ll understand.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me about all of this in the first place?”

“Honestly?” she started slowly. “I thought it would be too much. Too personal. You’re probably the only person on the planet who can understand why Rogers did what he did.” Bucky silently tried to puzzle out what that could mean. “I’ve gotta go. Just don’t judge Rogers until you have all the information. Be like the people who heard your case when no one else believed your story.”

“Don’t emotionally blackmail me, Sharon,” Bucky scolded, but there was no bite to it. She was one of those people and his fiercest ally in the darkest of times. He would do almost anything for her. “Thank you,” he added. He never said it enough.

“No problem, Barnes.” Her smile was evident in her voice. “I’ll expect to hear from you in a few hours when the next crisis pops up.”

 

~~~

 

By the time Sharon sent over the file, the court was let out for a break. Bucky thought better of even peaking at Steve’s info. What Sharon had said had assuaged some of his concerns about Steve’s character, but he was nervous about what he’d find when he read deeper. So, he left the email unread and stuffed his phone back into his pocket when Matt, Foggy, and Steve emerged from the courtroom, all looking worse for wear. 

“Let’s get lunch,” Foggy groaned, not even pausing to acknowledge Bucky, just walking straight towards the exit, Matt latched onto his arm. Steve did stop, waiting for Bucky to get up before following the lawyers.

“There’s a good Mexican place up the street,” Steve told Bucky. “Family-owned, best enchilada sauce known to man.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky waited until they were on the steps of the courthouse before speaking again. “Not a great morning, then?” Steve let out a humorless laugh.

“Could have gone better, that’s for sure,” he admitted. He glanced at Bucky then back down at the ground with a sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, not great. But, well, I’ve got nothing to hide. I know I did the right thing and there’s nothing anyone can say to convince me otherwise.”

“But they could convict you,” Bucky countered, which was, admittedly, neither helpful nor tactful, but when was Bucky either of those things?

“I guess,” Steve shrugged. “Wouldn’t change my mind. Wouldn’t change what I did.”

“So, you don’t have any regrets?” Bucky asked. He had no idea what Steve had done, but, god help him, Steve was sounding more and more like the good guy everyone made him out to be. That, or he was stubborn as hell, which sounded equally plausible. 

“Not a one,” Steve answered with pure conviction. He rushed ahead and opened the door for the lawyers, who mumbled half-hearted thank-yous, and kept it open for Bucky. “After you.” 

“You should go first,” he countered. Steve squinted at Bucky but smiled one of his winning smiles, too. “I mean, it’s safer. I’ll be the last in.”

“Alright,” Steve conceded, though it sounded like he wanted to put in a fight. “Whatever you say, Mr. Barnes.”

“You can just call me Bucky,” he told Steve, taking the door and ushering Steve through. Steve glanced back, smiled wider.

“Bucky,” he repeated. “I like that.”

Before Bucky could decide what to make of _that_ sentence, a waitress was ushering them to a table near the door (though, every table was near the door given the closet-sized dining space) and setting menus down before each of them, except for Matt. The lawyers must have been regulars here. 

“Tell Karen we’re going to need her to go over some of those financial documents again,” Matt told Foggy, his tone saturated with stress. “I don’t buy for one second that no funds were allocated to this program." 

“Damn straight,” Foggy agreed, then motioned to the waitress. “Our usuals, Rita. Steve, the enchiladas again?” Steve nodded. “Okay, enchiladas for him. Bucky, what’ll it be for you?”

“Enchiladas, too, thank you.” He hadn’t even glanced at the menu, but he was trusting Steve’s taste buds.

“Great,” Foggy agreed. He glanced back at the waitress, Rita. “Waters for the table. Thanks, Rita, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Only if you tip well,” she countered. Foggy gave a small laugh that didn’t reach his eyes, then turned back to Matt. 

“Alright, well, let’s think of it this way. We’ve still got the medical records and the lab tests. That’s pretty substantial,” Foggy tried.

“As long as they don’t get some kind of expert witness willing to corroborate their side of things,” Matt huffed. Foggy bumped his shoulder.

“C’mon, Matty,” he said softly, “we’ve got this. Avocados at law.” Bucky’s face must have mirrored his internal confusion, because Steve leaned closer to him and explained.

“Don’t mind them,” he whispered, his breath against Bucky’s ear, and Bucky did his best not to shiver. “Most of what they say is some kind of inside joke.”

“Right,” Bucky managed. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Steve added, a smile in his words, and Bucky did his best to push thought of Steve wrapping those lips around his ear, nipping at his earlobe, away. Thankfully, Rita set four waters down on the table and Steve moved out of Bucky’s personal space to grab one and sip form it.

Foggy and Matt spent the rest of the meal speaking in lawyer jargon that even Bucky couldn’t decipher. Truthfully, he wasn’t trying too hard. The mystery of Steve Rogers would be solved the minute Bucky opened up Sharon’s email and read the file. And, admittedly, the more he had spoken with Steve, the less he believed Steve could be an evil man. He had been wrong before, though. Steve was just as quiet as Bucky during the meal, though he looked far more at ease than Bucky felt. Bucky wasn’t even the one on trial and he was nervous. The only consolation was that there hadn’t been a single physical threat to Steve Rogers yet, which made Bucky’s job much easier. It felt like a relief, wishing him good luck and watching him re-enter the courtroom. Much less of a threat there. Bucky could put his guard down (at least, as far down as it would go now, which wasn’t far) and finally figure out Steve Rogers.

A coffee from the cart in the lobby of the courthouse in one hand, his phone in the other, he opened Sharon’s email and began reading. After five minutes, he set his coffee down. After ten, he felt like he might vomit. After fifteen, he had to take several deep breaths to stop himself from running into the courtroom. After twenty, he couldn’t read anymore.

 

~~~

 

NAME: Steven “Steve” Grant Rogers

KNOWN ALIASES: Captain America

DATE OF BIRTH: July 4, 1994 

PARENTS: Sarah Rogers (DECEASED), Joseph Rogers (DECEASED) 

ABILITIES: Super Soldier (enhanced strength, speed, agility, stamina, healing)

EARLY LIFE: Only child (elder sibling deceased before birth) to impoverished family. Frail and sickly child – history of pneumonia, sinus and lung infections, poor immune response. Prone to fighting, despite inevitable injuries and loss. Aptitude and affinity for art. Accepted to art school out of college but could not afford to afford tuition. Joined the army in order to get GI bill.

MILITARY HISTORY: Recruited by (and assigned to) Operation: Rebirth program before starting school; never attended. Given super soldier serum (reconstructed from Hydra’s original serum, used on the Winter Soldier (James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes)) without informed consent (Scientist on project: REDACTED). Sent into field on missions not sanctioned by authorities outside of Operation: Rebirth (full mission history attached). Leaked privileged information and documents from Operation: Rebirth throughout late 2018; discovered to be leak in 2019. Claimed to have recently discovered illegality of operations. Claimed whistleblower status. Trial proceedings began in 2019. Represented by Matthew Michael Murdock and Franklin “Foggy” Percy Nelson (details in footnotes).

 

~~~

 

Steve Rogers hadn’t wanted to become a soldier. He had not planned to become a super soldier. He had definitely not planned to be lied to, used, and disregarded for his country. He hadn’t even thought about breaking free of the monsters who had controlled him and leaking the documents that showed all of the crimes they had made him commit, only to be put through ridiculous trial proceedings just to prove that, yes, he had done terrible things, but Steve Rogers would never have done any of it by choice. He never had a choice, not once in his life.

But that wasn’t quite right. Steve Rogers _had_ had a choice. He could have allowed his controllers to continue their treachery. He could have stayed and continued, or he could have escaped and never looked back. But he didn’t. He used his one choice to make a difference in the world, to do the right thing even though it was the hard thing.

Steve Rogers wasn't just a good guy. He was the best guy Bucky had ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY he gets the memo. sheesh. also, I promise the file wasn't that tiny, that was more like a summary and there were more details inside (hence why it took Bucky 20 minutes to hit the point of no longer reading, rather than running out of text in like five minutes haha)
> 
> please kudos, comment, share, all of that fun stuff!! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I tell you over and over and over again, my friend  
> That I'm down with you, even on the eve of destruction"
> 
> ("Eve of Destruction" by Bishop Allen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much, guys, for your continued support and comments and kudos, I love it all so much, you're the best <3

The Winter Soldier was trained to process information at a breakneck pace. He was trained to take the information, catalogue it, try to find any way that it could be useful on mission, and leave the opinions and judgments up to his handlers. He was trained to forget what he should not have known, what he didn’t need to know. He never did, his super soldier brain ensured that, but he locked every memory up deep within himself, piling every heinous crime, every gruesome murder, every bloody massacre all on top of the seedling of his former identity. 

What his handlers and all of the scientists behind their project didn’t know at first and didn’t consider later was that memory and sleep, especially deep sleep like the one caused in cryo, are best friends. Sleep allows the mind to solidify memories and dreams—oh, dreams—dreams are composed of the stuff of memories. Twisted and distorted by the sleep-addled mind, sure, but still full of remembrances, especially those locked deep away in the depths of the subconscious. The longer the Winter Soldier slept, the more acquainted he became with Bucky Barnes, the more the lines between them blurred until, eventually, Bucky tore the lines down completely, until it was all just him and he could run away from the men who turned him into a monster.

The thing was, Bucky Barnes wasn’t as good at processing information as the Winter Soldier had been, mostly because he had pesky emotions and feelings and opinions and judgments and thoughts to deal with and he was not as adept at pushing those down. He wondered absently if that’s why he wanted a nap so badly, because then his mind could at least try to sort through the new information that was, frankly, tearing him apart.

He was angry. He was furious, actually, and very close to falling into a rage-induced rampage just to get to the bottom of this clusterfuck. Nothing like this was ever supposed to happen to anyone, especially not here, in this country, in the same country that tried to free him from what they were now doing themselves.

That was the heart of it, though, wasn’t it? Sharon had been right: it was too personal for him to process objectively. The scientists had weaponized Steve the same way they weaponized Bucky all those years ago, just with a different kind of mind control. And now the country was trying to disown him, to separate themselves from him, rather than just taking the blame and fixing their mistakes. Bucky wanted to burst into that courtroom and ask if all of his suffering, all of his fighting, all of his trials were for nothing, if they meant nothing, because the government was making the same mistakes all over again. He only stopped himself because he knew that nothing like that would actually work. The government didn’t listen to the voices of lone citizens anymore; it only heard money these days, not justice or righteousness. 

Bucky took another deep breath and took a sip of his now-cold coffee. He had gone back to reading the files, taking breaks every time he felt himself getting too angry, which was, unsurprisingly, every few minutes. He read every mission report, saw every photo, imagined every moment of Rogers’ time in Operation: Rebirth. They had told him he would be a national hero, even gave him the moniker Captain America to make him believe that, once Steve had done enough, they would take his image public. He would be the face of a nation, the face of justice, and Steve… Steve didn’t have much of a choice but to go along with it. Of course, it was all a lie.

“Watcha reading?” a familiar voice asked, and Bucky whipped around to find Steve himself behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets, his lips bent into a small smile. Bucky quickly shoved his phone back into his pocket and stood up. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing; the sun was setting, coloring Steve’s hair honey. 

“Just some mission reports,” Bucky answered, swiping his coffee cup off the table and chucking it into a nearby trashcan. It wasn’t technically a lie. The lawyers sidled up beside Steve, looking more determined than downtrodden. 

“We’re heading back to the office. We can drop you off from there,” Matt suggested. Shockingly, Steve looked to Bucky for an answer rather than just talking over him like he had the night before. 

“Sounds fine,” Bucky agreed. He had already charted a winding, twisting path from the office to the safehouse. He was almost completely sure any tails would latch onto them at the courthouse and follow from there. They’d have to be careful about losing them.

“We’ll grab sustenance on the way,” Foggy decided, leading them towards the doors of the courthouse. Bucky let Steve go in front of him, avoiding his eyes. It was one thing to acknowledge Steve as a good man, a great man, but a whole other problem to figure out how to treat him, knowing what Bucky now knew. He didn’t even remember how he wanted to be treated after everything. There were still some memories he locked away.

 

~~~

 

Sustenance, it turned out, was what Foggy called the “panicked law student specialty”: a bag full of greasy burgers and salty fries, plus two shakes per person. Foggy and Matt waived them off at the entrance of their firm’s building and promised to be at least semi-conscious by the time the trial restarted in the morning. Bucky let Steve start walking ahead, keeping close enough to tell him when and where to turn without looking too conspicuous. It was a good excuse not to talk to Steve, not to even try to figure out what he was supposed to say. He almost wished someone would attack, just to prolong the inevitable conversation he would have to have with Steve.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), they arrived at the apartment without any trouble. Bucky did a quick check of the apartment while Steve waited patiently, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, which was most definitely _not_ distracting.

“Clear,” Bucky called out.

“Great,” Steve sighed, setting the bag of food and the tray of shakes down on the kitchen countertop. “Let’s eat.” Normally, the food sitting in that bag would not have excited Bucky (not that he was a health nut, he just wasn’t so anti-health as to appreciate the contents) but now it was another excuse not to talk. 

“Great,” Bucky repeated. Steve took a portion and plopped down on the couch, immediately shoveling handfuls of fries into his mouth. Bucky didn’t know how he hadn’t guessed Steve was a super soldier like him before—it was so obvious. He didn’t realize he had let out a small laugh until Steve turned around, looking a little sheepish.

“I’m a stress-eater,” he revealed around a mouthful of fries. Bucky fought his grin and lost.

“Couldn’t tell.” He grabbed his own food and sat down on the chair across from Steve, who made a disgruntled noise and went back to devouring his food. Bucky was skeptical about the quality, but a few bites revealed that, once he got past the layer of grease, it actually hit the spot. Maybe he was a stress-eater, too. He laughed and opened his mouth to joke that maybe that was a side-effect of the serum before realizing that maybe Steve wasn’t ready to joke about what had happened.

“What?” Steve asked, pausing the intake of food. Bucky froze. A life of espionage and all of the tricks of the trade escaped his mind. 

“Nothing,” he tried, which was the worst thing to say. Steve’s expression shifted from confused to concerned.

“What is it, Buck?” Steve repeated. _Very_ unfair move, introducing a new nickname like that. God, Bucky hadn’t been called by a nickname (Bucky didn’t count, no one called him James) since… since too long before. It struck something in him, destroyed the last bit of restraint he had in record time. 

“I read your file,” he blurted. Steve’s face went back to confused.

“Okay,” he said slowly, as though he was waiting for Bucky to add more.

“I know you had the serum,” Bucky added, digging another foot worth of dirt out of his grave.

“Did you—” Steve started, but smirked— _smirked_ —at Bucky. “Did you not know that before?”

“No,” Bucky admitted, suddenly feeling very stupid. “No, I just got your file today.”

“Oh,” Steve said in a way that implied he was completely unimpressed and unconcerned. “I mean, I figured you read my file before coming here.”

“Oh.”

“I figured that’s _why_ you came here,” Steve continued. “It’s also not a huge secret. There were some efforts to plug the leaks, but, y’know, I guessed the Winter Soldier would have heard about someone that was created like him.”

“Right,” Bucky managed. “Right.” He had been on mission, he had been distracted, and he also hated the internet because it was mostly full of articles critiquing him. His first vanity search had ended in insecurity more than anything else.

“But I can tell you didn’t,” Steve added.

“Nope.” Bucky popped the ‘p’ in such a petulant way, it made him cringe. More and more he was feeling out of practice, something he hadn’t felt before this mission.

“Now you know,” Steve smiled before shoving more fries into his mouth. It puzzled Bucky, how Steve could be so pleasant despite what was happening. He knew what Steve was capable of, knew in his own body chemistry and in the reports he had read, but Steve didn’t strike him as particularly violent.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” Bucky murmured. Steve frowned and shrugged.

“It’s not your fault. There are about a hundred people who deserve the blame and you’re not one of them,” Steve assured. “And—I’m not really sorry either. I’m sorry about what I did, but I know I was being lied to. I would never have done any of it if I had known what was happening. Now, though, I have this power and I can do good with it.” He paused, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Like you.” 

Bucky nearly dropped his milkshake. 

“It’s all I know how to do,” he admitted.

Steve squinted at him in disbelief, opened his mouth to disagree, and was stopped by a single, sharp bang against the door. Bucky did drop his milkshake that time, quickly grabbing his gun and rising to his feet. Another pound on the door. The deadbolt might be able to bear one more, but certainly not two. Bucky motioned for Steve to go into the bedroom, to get out of sight, and, bless Steve Rogers, he actually did. Bucky rounded the corner and stood with his back against the wall separating the hallway from the entrance/kitchen/living space. The door burst open on the third blow, accompanied by a set of loud footsteps, first stumbling then regaining some balance. 

“C’mon,” a voice whispered. More footsteps entered the apartment, spreading out, getting closer to the hallway. Bucky applied more pressure to the trigger of his gun, taking a deep breath, readying himself to turn the corner and—

“Hey!” one of the men shouted, which was the last intelligible sound before the room filled with grunts, curses, and the sound of bodies dropping to the ground. No gunshots, though. Bucky turned the corner, needing to understand what was happening, what threat was heading their way, only to find a figure covered in red fabric, a mask covering his face, unconscious (but not dead) bodies scattered around the room.

“Who are you?” Bucky asked in his best Winter Soldier voice—gruff and threatening. He noticed the horns on the top of the man’s mask and internally groaned. Some sort of biblically-inspired villain, fantastic.

“Daredevil,” Steve said behind him. Bucky resisted the urge to turn around and reprimand Steve for leaving the bedroom.

“You know this guy?” he asked instead.

“He was the one watching out for me before you got here,” Steve supplied. The figure—Daredevil—remained suspiciously silent during the exchange. 

“Well, thanks for your help, Mr. Devil,” Bucky started, “but I had it under contr—”

“It didn’t look like it,” Daredevil snapped. Bucky _knew_ that voice. Bucky _knew_ that _voice_.

“Matt?” he nearly shouted, because _what the hell?_ Was Matt just not blind? Was it all a trick? Was he just some kind of liar or conman or—

Matt reluctantly pulled the mask off and frowned. It was the first time Bucky saw his eyes. They didn’t look back at him, just somewhere past him and Steve. So maybe he was still blind? 

“I thought Sharon would have told you,” was all Matt had to say for himself, which brought up another fantastic question: _Sharon knew?_ Did Sharon know _everything_? Was she _purposely_ tormenting Bucky by keeping _all_ of this information to _herself_?

“She did not,” Bucky answered tactfully. Matt’s frown deepened. 

“I guess I have some explaining to do, then,” he decided. “Somewhere less compromised, maybe.”

“I’ll just go pack up,” Steve mumbled, sounding curiously nonplussed. Bucky turned on him, stopping him in place with a look.

 “You knew, too?” he asked, stopping short of saying _Et tu, Brute?_ Steve just gave another sheepish grin, an innocent shrug, and absconded to the bedroom. Bucky was too old for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor Bucky doesn't know a single thing, can you believe
> 
> ANYWAY, please give some kudos and keep on commenting!! I keep writing for comments and kudos and all the fun stuff honestly. share, too!! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So you make no mistake  
> I know just what it takes  
> To pull a man's soul back from heaven's gates  
> I've been wandering in the dark about as long as sin  
> But they say it's never too late to start again"
> 
> ("Black River Killer" by Blitzen Trapper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY ALL!!
> 
> Well, we're only 10 more kudos away from 50!! that's exciting!! also, somehow we're at 35 SUBSCRIPTIONS, WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?!?! I just want to thank you all so much for the support so far, I really appreciate it!! this has been a fun fit to write (don't worry, I'm still writing more, just saying it's been fun so far) and I'm glad to have you along the way!! be sure to comment and let me know what you're thinking!! <3

Bucky didn’t say that he had told Matt and Steve a safehouse in Hell’s Kitchen wouldn’t work. He thought it, over and over again, hiding a sly grin, but he didn’t say it. Unfortunately, Sharon’s backup safehouse was still in Hell’s Kitchen, so Bucky figured there would be another skirmish within the next 24 hours, thought probably more like 12.

Matt had put his mask on again before they left the apartment—Bucky had asked, while Steve was packing, if Matt was worried about one of the goons on the floor seeing his face, but Matt had ominously assured him that he knew they were not conscious enough for that with a certainty that Bucky both admired and doubted—and climbed through the window nearest to the fire escape (after having some trouble taking the board off, Bucky noted smugly). Apparently, he was planning to follow along from the rooftops, make sure they got to the safehouse without being tracked. Bucky and Steve assumed their most subtle attire once more, packed up their scant belongings, and made their way through Hell’s Kitchen once more, cutting through extra sketchy alleyways and glancing over their shoulders. Bucky was usually hyper-conscious of his surroundings; now, he was on the edge of a knife, ready for a fight around every corner.

By the time they got to the new safehouse, Matt was climbing through the window and Bucky made a mental note to board that entrance up as soon as the lawyer/vigilante left. They layout of the space wasn’t too different from the last one, but Bucky wasn’t going to lure him into a false sense of comfort. He motioned for Steve to stay in the doorway and started on his check of the apartment.

“It’s clear,” Matt provided helpfully, having not moved from his spot by the still-open window. Bucky squinted skeptically at him, shook his head, and checked the rooms anyway. When he returned, Steve was smirking, and Matt’s mask was off again. “I told you." 

“And how would you have known? You got here at the same time?” Bucky asked. He didn’t trust the lawyer as far as he could throw him (which, admittedly, was pretty far).

“Enhanced senses,” the lawyer said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, most senses,” he added, motioning to his eyes and smiling.

“He can hear heartbeats,” Steve supplied as he passed by Bucky and set his duffel in the bedroom.

“Heartbeats, soundwaves, the works. I know where people are because of the heartbeats. I know what they’re doing because each movement disturbs the atmosphere around them. I also know where buildings and objects are because of the way sound moves around them, so I can get a pretty good picture of the world from all of that,” Matt explained.

“Like echolocation,” Bucky tried. It was still… strange, but certainly not the strangest thing Bucky had seen in his life. Actually, and he would never admit this out loud, it was pretty cool.

“Like echolocation,” Matt agreed. Steve returned to the room and stood beside Bucky. Bucky did not overanalyze that decision (there was an entire floor’s worth of space, it was definitely not cramped enough to warrant being this close… right?). He really did not. 

“It’s also how he knew I was telling the truth about everything in my case,” Steve mentioned. Bucky raised an eyebrow at that and resisted the nervous laugh that threatened to come out.

“You can hear lies?” It wasn’t that Bucky was hiding anything. Well, he was, but that wasn’t the point _here_. It was just that his spy-brain immediately hated the prospect of a human lie detector sitting across from him and being around him for at least the next few days with some regularity.

“I can hear how heartbeats change with lies, sure,” Matt said, “but I try not to listen unless I need to. Y’know, it gives at least the semblance of privacy.” Bucky did give an awkward laugh at that. “But, yes, Steve is right. When I take on clients, I have to know that I’m representing good people. I saw Steve’s story and, while I didn’t want to believe it at first, I sought him out, listened to what he said, and knew that none of it was a lie. I wouldn’t be representing him if it was.” 

“A lawyer with morals. Not something you see every day,” Bucky joked and, to his surprise, both Steve and Matt gave a chuckle at that. Matt’s laugh died down a second later though, and he cocked his head to the side. 

“I’ve got to go,” he stated, putting his mask on again and heading for the window. “I’ll keep an ear out for anymore disturbances but be ready for anything.” With that, he was gone, leaving Bucky and Steve alone. Again.

Bucky busied himself with securing the apartment—including boarding up Matt’s window entrance/exit, because it was too sketchy not to—and tried not to think about Steve. He especially tried not to think about what Steve had been saying, what he didn’t get to say before the break-in. Bucky didn’t really think about what he did in terms of good or bad—it was more about duty, about responsibility. He knew what he had done before was bad, but… what he did now, he knew it wasn’t bad, but it was… it was so _hard_ to imagine himself being a good person, doing good things. 

“Need any help?” Steve asked, jolting Bucky out of his stupor. He glanced up from where he had finished nailing the bottom left corner of the board to the wall beside the window.

“No, sorry, just got distracted,” he mumbled, getting up and setting his tools back in his bag. When he turned around Steve was looking towards him, not really at him. More like _through_ him. It only lasted a second before Steve blinked and he gave an embarrassed smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Bucky shook his head, even as Steve turned around to sit in one of the armchairs. He knew the look in Steve’s eyes. He’d seen it in the mirror a thousand times before. “I just—” Steve started but cut himself off. He pursed his lips and looked up at Bucky. “How do you deal with it?” All Bucky could do was stare for a minute, because that question implied that he _was_ dealing with it and that he knew _how_ to deal with it, neither of which was true.

“With…?”

“With everything,” Steve explained. “With knowing your body isn’t your own, not completely. With understanding that so much of what you’ve done was for evil, not for good. With people still doubting that you’re a good person, even though you never would have chosen to do bad.” His voice grew louder and louder with every sentence, his last words shouted and punctuated with a frustrated sigh. “I just,” he began, now whispering, “don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Bucky sat down opposite Steve but didn’t say anything. He didn’t really have the words.

“You know, I didn’t want to do this whole trial thing,” Steve confessed. “I wanted to dismantle everything as soon as possible, and I didn’t think the system would provide the justice needed in this situation. The people who caused all of this, they’re part of that system. A system that protects its own,” he scoffed. “It was Matt who convinced me to go the legal route. He’d heard buzz about what I was planning, so he came, heard me out, and told me to try the law first. He still believes in all of it, y’know. I told him I’d try it, but if it didn’t work, I wasn’t going to go quietly." 

“Good,” Bucky said, then immediately realized he had said it aloud. Steve, to his surprise, barked a laugh at that. “I mean—the courts sometimes get it right, clearly,” he amended, motioning to himself. “But it can take a long time. Or it might never happen.” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek, a bad habit he had formed long ago. “Honestly, I envy Matt. It would be nice to believe in the system, but I just can’t. Not after I’ve seen it from the inside.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed gruffly. Bucky wished he had something more positive to say because the look of disillusionment in Steve’s eyes was tragic. Right. How did Bucky deal with it?

“Meditating helps, which sounds stupid, I know, but sometimes it’s nice to shut off your mind,” he suggested. Back in Shelbyville, he tried to meditate once a day. Mostly it helped with remembering the memories that had been pushed deep down. He didn’t like most of them, but it gave him a sense of ownership over his own mind that he needed. “Picking up a hobby is good. It gives you purpose.” Only Sharon knew this, but there was an old folks’ home not too far from Bucky’s house where he liked to volunteer. “I guess… I guess you just take it one day at a time. You work on changing the things you can control, like forgiving yourself, which will take a… long time. And you try to make up for the things you did in the past.”

“And that works?” Steve asked. Bucky looked up at him for the first time since he’d spoken and found Steve’s eyes wet. He stopped himself from reaching out and wiping the tears away. 

“In time, it works,” Bucky nodded. “Some days are easier than others. You just push through.” Truth was, Bucky didn’t really know if that worked in the long run. It felt like all he’d really been doing was keeping himself distracted. Still, the words made Steve smile a little, and that was enough.

“Thanks, Buck,” he said quietly. “I feel like the worst part of my time in the unit was never knowing who I could trust. The only one who seemed as uncomfortable as me was the scientist behind all of this, Erskine, but I don’t even know where his allegiances were.” That name—Erskine—made Bucky’s thoughts stall for a moment. He knew that name. He knew that name. He could feel a memory so close to the surface, but not quite there, like a word on the tip of his tongue that he just couldn’t recall. He’d need to look through some old records, or at least try to meditate on it, or— “Bucky?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, snapping back to the present. “Sorry.”

 “Where’d you go?” Steve asked gently, his voice so tender Bucky wanted to cry.

“Just… Something you said just struck a chord with me,” Bucky admitted. “The worst is, sometimes you feel like you can’t even trust yourself.” He glanced towards the window, wishing he could look out at the city rather than just the board hiding them from it. “How can you trust someone you don’t even know?”

 

~~~

 

Steve decided they would actually take shifts sleeping tonight, and all but ushered Bucky to bed first. Perhaps Bucky would have put up more of a resistance if he had slept more than a couple hours in the past few days. He told Steve to wake him up exactly three hours after letting him fall asleep, or at even the slightest sign of intrusion. It wasn’t until he was about to doze off that he realized he had put more trust in Steve than he had anyone else (besides maybe Sharon) over the past… century. He didn’t have time to question or scold himself, just drifted into the cool abyss of sleep.

_Recall activated._

_Accessing memory…_

_Date: 0$286i20*34!73745 – data corrupted_

_“_ _Внимание,_ _Зимний Солдат.”_

_Translation activated:_ _Русский– English_

_“Follow me.”_

_They walk through hazy grey corridors. The face of the man before him is obscured. The Winter Soldier does not care to know the identity of his handlers. He is not programmed to want to know such things. He is programmed to observe, though, and he listens to dialogue coming from down the hall._

_“The lab is prepared, sir.” Spoken in English. American accent. The Winter Soldier still does not see who is speaking._

_“And the serum?” Russian, again._

_“Erskine has it ready.”_

_The Winter Soldier catalogues Erskine as a potential person of interest._

_“Erskine… he will comply, yes?”_

_“Yes. We’ll keep him closely monitored. He is apprehensive, but still doesn’t know the true purpose of the project.”_

_His handler leads him into a conference room. Figures sit around the table. His handler joins them. The Winter Soldier remains standing near the door._

_Memories corrupted. Faces not discernable._

_“Is this him?” the American asks._

_“Yes.”_

_“Fantastic. Now we’ll have him to work discretely and another to work in the open.”_

_“Have you chosen a candidate?”_

_“We’ve narrowed it down to two. I’m partial to the skinny one, R—”_

_The door opens before the American can finish speaking. The soldier looks like a child. He looks around the room, notices the Winter Soldier, and his eyes grow wide. His is the only face the Winter Soldier can see in the memory._

_“I’m so sorry,” the soldier is saying. He realizes he has made a grave mistake. “I’m sorry, please—”_

_The Winter Soldier looks to his handler. His handler nods. The Winter Soldier steps forward, pulls the soldier into the room squeezes his metal hand around the boys’ throat—_

“NO!” Bucky roared, jolting upright in bed. His eyes searched the room, looking for the boy, for his handler, for more information.

“Hey,” a voice said soothingly beside him. A hand was rubbing slow circles on his back. He turned to find a blond man smiling reassuringly back at him. _Steve_. Right, Steve. This was Hell’s Kitchen. This was the present. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “It’s okay." 

“It’s not,” Bucky croaked. He was fighting at tears and anger. Another victim. Another murder.

“It was just a dream,” Steve whispered.

“It wasn’t,” Bucky said. He ran through the memory again, tried to keep it in his conscious mind, tried to keep it from slipping away again. He’d need to write it down, soon, but for now…

“It’s fine, Bucky,” Steve tried, though he sounded increasingly unsure of that.

“No.” Bucky looked back up at Steve, who frowned in return. “It’s worse than I thought, Steve. Than any of you thought.” 

“What is it?” 

“Hydra. They’re still here. They’ve infiltrated the government.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooooh things are getting reeeeeeeeeal
> 
> poor Bucky, dude needs to learn more about self love. I'm secretly out here just trying to get these guys into self care and therapy tbqh
> 
> also, fun fact, I studied Russian for a few years so I didn't even have to use google translate, aw yeah
> 
> ANYWHO, thanks again for the continued support!! be sure to kudos, comment, subscribe, bookmark, ALL THAT FUN STUFF <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What I am is what I am  
> Are you what you are or what?
> 
> Don't let me get too deep  
> Don't let me get too deep  
> Don't let me get too deep  
> Don't let me get too deep"
> 
> ("What I Am" by Edie Brickell & New Bohemians)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH for your continued support and kindness and coolness. today I've got a longer chapter for you guys with a lot of revelations so enjoy!!!

Bucky didn’t say anything more, just pushed himself out of bed, blindly grabbed his gun, and stopped short of the door in the living room. He didn’t know where to go, who to target, what to do—everything was so new all over again. He couldn’t just start with shooting. Intel. He needed intel. The intel would tell him where to go, it would—

“Bucky,” came Steve’s apprehensive voice. Bucky turned around but didn’t make any other moves. Steve was frowning, moving closer with a caution that drilled passed the tough soldier exterior and made Bucky feel guilty. But he had to do this. They were monsters. Everything they had put him through. He had forgotten so much but remembered the faces of everyone he had hurt. Everyone he had killed. He wasn’t a murderer, he never wanted to be a murderer. He just wanted to live a happy, carefree life, but there was the draft and then there was Hydra. There was _always_ Hydra. They used him, they used _Steve_ , and now they needed to be crushed, _pulverized_ like a bug under a boot, so that no more heads could grow back. Not _ever_.

“You need to calm down,” Steve tried, now a few paces away. Bucky didn’t even give an intelligible response, just a growl. He could feel the Winter Soldier stirring inside himself, trying to push his humanity back down so that all that was left in the world was him and his targets. He could hear the voices of his handlers, the early ones, shouting at him about keeping a straight face, covering his face when that didn’t work and then never, ever taking that mask off again, not until he did it himself. It had been so tight, he never felt like he could breathe, not the him that was deep down inside, _god_ , how did he ever _breathe_? 

“There are legal pathways, Bucky,” Steve said quietly, setting his hands-on Bucky’s shoulders gently. “There are better ways to do this, I promise. Violence doesn’t have to be the first course of action. We have to be better than the weapons they made us into.” Bucky wanted to argue with that. He wanted to say that those men deserved to be torn limb from limb. He wanted to say that sometimes bloodshed meant a real, final solution, but he _couldn’t_. That was the Soldier. That wasn’t really Bucky, or at least not the Bucky he was trying to be. Steve was right. He dropped his gun and felt some pride at the small smile that that earned him from Steve. 

“C’mon,” Steve murmured, dropping hand down to Bucky’s arm and guiding him forward, “have a seat.” Bucky did as he was told. “Good. Now, take some deep breaths, okay? In for four, hold for four, release for four.” He hadn’t even realized his breathing had been erratic. It wasn’t until a few breaths in—with Steve’s firm guidance—that Bucky realized he’d been having a panic attack. He hadn’t felt like that for a while, not since he was first recovering from his decades as the Winter Soldier. It was like he had been caught between the present and that dark past. He reminded himself that he was just here, in this moment, with a home in Shelbyville, with Sharon on speed dial, with Steve crouched before him.

“That’s it,” Steve whispered, “you’re safe now.” Bucky nodded. Astoundingly, he did feel safe with Steve. They stayed there for a few minutes, just watching each other, before Steve finally broke the silence again. “We have to tell Matt and Foggy.” 

“Okay,” Bucky finally managed.

 

~~~

 

It was a miracle that they arrived at Matt’s doorstep in one piece, though they had probably been tailed. Bucky hadn’t really recovered from the episode at the safehouse, so he was sure he was more off his guard than he’d have liked on the walk over. Steve had walked beside him and kept looking over his shoulder, even when Bucky told him to be more subtle, so they must have looked like quite a suspicious pair. But they’d made it without incident, and they could figure out what to do if someone had followed them.

Foggy opened the door after a few minutes of knocking. He’d clearly been sleeping—he didn’t even have the energy to look surprised when he saw them—but he was still wearing his suit. Late night working, Bucky guessed. He squinted at Steve and Bucky as if trying to remember their faces (or perhaps what year it was).

“Oh,” Foggy said flatly. “Hi. Come in, then. I’ll make some coffee.” He left the doorway and Steve and Bucky followed him inside. The lights in the apartment were still on, various files and papers strewn across the table and countertop. “Matt’ll be in soon, probably,” he mumbled as the coffee maker spluttered out the first bits of thick, brown liquid. As if on cue, Matt slipped through a window and pulled his mask off. He looked exhausted, bags gathering darkly below his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, skipping over pleasantries. He walked past Bucky and Steve to Foggy, kissing him on the forehead before nudging him away from the kitchen and towards a seat across the counter. “You’re lucky you weren’t mugged or kidnapped or just straight up killed on your way over,” Matt scolded, pulling a set of mugs down from a cabinet and filling them with coffee.

“You’ll want to be sitting for this,” Steve advised before Bucky could say anything. Steve had a gift for bedside manner that Bucky had never had, not even before he was the Winter Soldier. Matt frowned but complied after handing a cup of coffee to each of them. Foggy took a long gulp. “Hydra is behind everything.” Bucky commended Foggy for swallowing his coffee rather than spitting it out. Precious caffeine couldn’t be wasted. Matt didn’t do anything more than furrow his brow, which was, arguably, his resting state.

“How do you know?” he asked, ever the lawyer.

“Bucky. He had a sort of flashback after we talked about the case. They had been planning everything while the Winter Soldier was still under their control,” Steve explained. Foggy grabbed a can of something—Red Bull, Bucky realized—from across the counter, popped it open, and poured it into his coffee cup. Matt’s frown deepened.

“You’re sure you can trust that memory?” he asked. It was unclear whether or not he was talking to Bucky or Steve.

“Yes,” Bucky answered anyway. “The Soldier’s memories aren’t molded or changed by bias in any way because he didn’t have any biases. Those memories, it’s like they’re from a different person in my head. It’s easy to tell when it’s one of his memories or when it’s from my mind.” Matt nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied by that answer.

“Foggy—” Matt started, but Foggy was already nodding. 

“Yup, I’ll call in my favors,” Foggy sighed between gulps of his coffee/Red Bull hybrid. “And—”

“Yeah, calling Karen now,” Matt finished with a sigh. He took a sip of his coffee then got up again. “I’ll go get changed.” Foggy nodded absently, pulling out his cell phone and dialing a number.

Bucky glanced at Steve, hoping he understood what was happening, but the confusion in Steve’s features made it clear that they were both in the dark.

“Hi Marci,” Foggy greeted the person on the other line of the call. “I know it’s late, I’m sorry. But, hey, wasn’t it you that said nothing fun happens before three in the morning?” Foggy laughed nervously. “I don’t _only_ call you when I need a favor. I don’t!” A pause. “Well, _actually_ , just this _one_ time, I _do_ need a favor—don’t hang up!” A pause. “Okay. It’s just, you know that case we’re on now? Yeah, fine, the ridiculously stupid one you told us not to take.” Steve frowned at that, but Bucky couldn’t help a smirk. “Well, some new information has come to light. I know you’ve got some pretty far-reaching connections, and I was wondering if—yes, yes, would you please? Oh my god, Marci, you’re a goddess, you’re amazing, you’re—Rude!” Foggy looked down at his phone aghast then back to Steve and Bucky. “She hung up on me!”

“Good,” Matt called from somewhere else in the apartment.

“Sorry, what’s happening?” Steve finally asked. Foggy was finally starting to wake up, and he looked over at Steve with a pleasant grin.

“We’ve got tomorrow—plus the weekend, thank god, because everyone is too lazy to work weekends in the court system, myself included—to revamp your case and figure out how the hell we’re supposed to take Hydra down while also proving your innocence.” He finished the rest of his energy-spiked coffee and set the mug down. “ _Easy_.”

 

~~~

 

They all ended up at the lawyers’ office, boxes of papers from Matt’s apartment in hand (well, in hand for Steve and Bucky). They crowded around the little desk space that was available, quickly-emptying mugs scattered around the room, and tried to find any evidence of Hydra in the fine print. The sun was coloring the remnants of night pink and purple by the time a blond woman arrived, two tiers of coffee cups and a large bag full of bagels balanced precariously between her hands and chin.

“Good morning, all!” she greeted cheerily. Steve rushed over immediately to grab one tray of coffee and the bag, and she sighed in relief. “Thanks.” She offered a cup to Foggy, then Matt, and stopped in front of Bucky. “You’re the Winter Soldier,” she said in shock. Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink and she smiled nervously. “I mean, Mr. Barnes, hi, nice to meet you, I’m Karen. Coffee?”

“Thanks, Karen.” Bucky took the coffee and gave a half smile in return. She nodded, took the last cup in the tray, and sat down at her desk in the center of the office.

“Let’s go over the chain of command in the S.T.R.I.K.E. unit again,” Matt decided, his hand paused on a sheet of braille.

“Erskine was the scientist who administered the serum,” Steve began with a sigh, as though he’d said it a thousand times before. Bucky took special care to listen. These names would be important. “I checked in with him weekly at first, but I stopped seeing him after a few months. The soldiers of the unit were under the command of Brock Rumlow, though he and I functioned more like partners most of the time. He reported directly to Jasper Sitwell, who oversaw all operations in the S.T.R.I.K.E unit.” Sitwell. That sounded familiar. “S.T.R.I.K.E. was under the S.H.I.E.L.D. umbrella—”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Bucky interrupted. All eyes turned to him. “It’s just—Sharon moonlights for me, but her real job is at S.H.I.E.L.D. That’s where all of her resources come from.”

“You’re sure she’s not Hydra,” Matt said, more statement than question.

“Completely.” Bucky didn’t hesitate. He knew Sharon was clean. “But if parts of S.H.I.E.L.D. are under Hydra’s control—” 

“—then her resources are compromised,” Steve finished. “It’s how they found the safehouse.”

“We’ll need to move safehouses. Again,” Bucky groaned.

“Later,” Matt decided. “For now, let’s continue.”

“Sure,” Steve agreed. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is headed by Nick Fury. The entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D. is under the control of the Department of Internal Security and the Secretary of Internal Security, Alexander Pierce. And his boss….”

“Is the president,” Foggy groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“We just have to hope the corruption doesn’t go that high,” Matt stated. Bucky didn’t need super-hearing to find the doubt in his voice. He couldn’t blame him. Bucky didn’t trust anyone on principal, least of all politicians.

“Right,” Foggy sighed. “Okay. Let’s start from the bottom. Karen, can you help us gather all the files we’ve got with Rumlow.”

Bucky looked down on the papers strewn across the desk and knew, without much doubt, that the answers wouldn’t be there. Hydra was impeccable at covering their tracks. They knew better than to leave a paper trail behind. Their one slip-up was employing Steve, bringing a good man in to a corrupt affair. What Steve knew was everything this case had, and if Steve didn’t have anymore answers, these papers wouldn’t either.

The only place left to look, Bucky realized, was within himself. Steve’s freedom and Hydra’s downfall rested on his shoulders.

“Hey,” Steve said quietly, leaning closer to Bucky and setting a hand on his knee. “What is it?” Bucky looked up and pursed his lips. He tried not to go too deep. The Soldier didn’t like it when he picked around his own head too much. He was already mentally and emotionally exhausted after that dream. It wasn’t a good idea to purposefully put himself through anything else so soon. But this wasn’t just for him. This was for Steve. He owed it to him.

“I have to go meditate,” Bucky finally decided. Steve cocked his head.

“Sure. The dream and everything from this morning was rough, you should take some time away to—”

“No, I—” Bucky started with a sigh. “I have to try to remember, Steve. It’s the only way.”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve scolded gently, frowning, “you don’t have to put yourself through that for the case.”

“For you,” he corrected, trying a small smile. “You deserve your freedom, and I’m the only one who can give it to you.” Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but Bucky shook his head before he could. “My mind is made up.”

“Fine,” Steve sighed. His thumb grazed a few absentminded circles against Bucky’s knee before he dropped his hand. Bucky tried not to frown at the withdrawal. “I can be around, if you like.”

“It’s better if I’m alone,” Bucky admitted. “But I’ll let you know if I want—need you,” he corrected, managing a nervous laugh in lieu of vaulting out the window. Steve flashed him a small grin before turning back to the paperwork. It was possible that Bucky’s feelings were verging on unprofessional. It was also possible they had already crossed that line.

 

~~~

 

Usually, Bucky meditated just to feel himself within his own mind. He would breathe to know that he controlled his body. He would keep his mind centered on nothingness to confirm that he could just be himself without a mission or an objective. Sometimes when he meditated like this, flashes of memories would return, bits and pieces that the Winter Soldier gave him as the distance between them gave way. A beach in the French Riviera. A hotel room in the middle of Hong Kong. A jeep covered in dirt from the Australian outback. He always wrote the details down in his journal, which looked more and more like a poorly written autobiography with a patchwork of disconnected memories.

Every once in a while, though, when Bucky had a long break between missions or when he needed to go deeper into his mind, to have more clarity if only to remember that he didn’t want it, he would meditate to remember. In those cases, he would breathe for a while before imagining himself at the top of a staircase. With each breath, he descended lower and lower, deeper into his mind, until he found himself in a memory. Sometimes, he tried to control where the stairs led him, keeping places or dates in mind. Sometimes, that even worked. 

Now, sitting in the middle of Foggy’s office—they’d brought all the important documents to the conference room and Matt’s office—he didn’t know how any of this was supposed to work. He had so many names and such a large range of dates and no one place; he wouldn’t be surprised if all he found were the empty recesses of his mind. But he had to try. He shut his eyes and tried to clear his mind. He didn’t know how long that took, but it felt like hours. When he did, he began his breathing.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Descend.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Descend. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Descend.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Descend.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Descend.

Breathe in. Breathe out. _Remember_.

_“Can we get Fury out?” Russian voice. His handler. Not sure which one. Bucky can’t see anything; he can only hear what the Soldier is giving him._

_“No, he won’t budge.” American. Same as dream. “I can work around him.”_

_“Don’t overextend yourself,_ _американец.” Papers shuffling. “How is the new soldier?”_

_“Perfect. He trusts Rumlow. Thinks they’re brothers-in-arms or some bullshit. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.”_

_“Rumlow is doing well, then?” Surprise. Lack of faith in Rumlow._

_“Yes. He was upset that he wasn’t chosen for the project at first, but now he understands his place.”_

_“Good. He will be awarded in time.” Footsteps getting closer._

_“I should go before you power the old guy up.” Briefcase snapping shut. “I’ll let you know how—” He can’t hear anything else over a rush of air. Numbness becomes painful cold and then prickling all over. He needs to open his eyes. If he opens his eyes, he’ll see the American, he’ll know who it is. He tries once, gets his eyelids barely up, sees only a brief flash of grey. He tries again and again until, finally, he opens his eyes, looks past his handler, and has just enough time to watch the door shut behind the man who had just left._

_“_ _Внимание,_ _Зимний Солдат.”_

_Bucky needs to get out. He doesn’t want to see anymore._

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Ascend._

_“New objective.”_

_The voice was becoming distant, but it wasn’t enough._

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Ascend._

_“Locate Dr. Abraham Erskine.”_

_Just an echo._

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Ascend._

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Ascend._

_“Kill him.”_

_Ascend. Ascend._ Ascend _._

Bucky gasped himself out of the memory, flailing for a second before regaining his composure. He tried to calm his breathing, clutching at his chest. Had he killed Erskine? Before he could think any further on the question, there was a knock on the door, and then Steve was cracking it open slightly and peaking in.

“You can come in,” Bucky decided when Steve didn’t make any move to enter. Steve was visibly relieved, walking in and closing the door behind him, then kneeling down in front of Bucky, who made his best efforts not to measure the space between them (approximately one foot).

“Are you alright?” Steve whispered. The concern in his eyes could have melted Bucky. No one, not even Sharon, looked at him like that.

“I didn’t really remember anything big,” Bucky began. “Just some—” Steve stopped him by taking his hands where they sat in his lap.

“Are _you_ alright?” he repeated. Bucky didn’t know what to say. He was proud to have confirmed Rumlow’s involvement. He was relieved Fury wasn’t involved. He was worried that Erskine had died by his hands. He was exhausted from memories he wished he didn’t have to remember. But all he really wanted was to stay in this moment with the only other person who actually understood him, to let himself be held—even if It was only his hands—for a while, or even to pull Steve closer.  

“I am now,” he found himself saying, filters slipping away for the first time since he’d gotten his body back. Steve nodded absently, his eyes leaving Bucky’s for a second to look down—at his lips?—then darting back up. Bucky felt himself leaning closer, felt Steve bridging that gap, like they were being brought together, like—

The door opened and they leaned away from each other again.

“Oh!” Karen gasped, her cheeks going pink again. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” She trailed off and looked up at the ceiling like it had answers to a test she hadn’t studied for.

“It’s okay,” Steve supplied warmly. “Did you need something?”

“Yes!” Karen exclaimed hastily, looking back down at them. “Yes,” she said again, more calmly, turning her attention to Bucky. “Foggy was just wondering if you had a safe house in mind. Matt says he doesn’t think his apartment is secure enough." 

“He’s right,” Bucky agreed ruefully. “I’d normally ask Sharon, but we can’t chance anyone finding the location. I don’t really have a lot of connections in the city, so… I’m not sure.”

“Foggy said his apartment is basically never used, so you could do that in a pinch,” Karen offered, but Bucky knew that wouldn’t work. It was still connected to them, still too easy to track.

“I might have a place,” Steve confessed, though he sounded both pained and embarrassed. When Bucky turned to look, Steve was cringing. “It’s in Brooklyn. I’m… _familiar_ with it, but it’s not under my name. It’s a friend’s, sort of, but he’s never there and I have the keys.”

“Is this a friend Hydra or S.H.I.E.L.D. would know of?” Bucky asked, skimming across the portion of Steve’s explanation in which he has the keys to a _sort-of-friend’s_ place.

“No, they didn’t know,” he confirmed.

“And how are you familiar with it?” Bucky tried, and told himself it wasn’t because he was trying to figure out Steve’s connection with the sort-of-friend.

“Well,” Steve sighed, “it’s my childhood home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW WOW WOW HOW INTENSE.
> 
> I hope you guys liked that chapter!!! kudos, comment, subscribe, share, all that fun stuff!!! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Once I wanted to be the greatest  
> No wind or waterfall could stall me  
> And then came the rush of the flood  
> Stars at night turned deep to dust"
> 
> ("The Greatest" by Cat Power)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all of your support. we hit 50 kudos!!! so awesome!!!!! <3 keep up the comments and all that fun stuff <3
> 
> also, prepare for a longer chapter!!!!

The house was completely ordinary. It was just like the others in the row of houses it belonged to, the only thing setting it apart the pristine American flag near the doorway. There was no lawn, just concrete stairs separated from the road by a tiny white iron fence. The only word Bucky could think of to describe it was meager. He would have been shocked to imagine a guy like Steve growing up in a neighborhood like this if he hadn’t read Steve’s file.

It was evening by the time they arrived, one long, twisting commute from Hell’s Kitchen to one of the further boroughs of Brooklyn. Bucky had checked every angle as they walked, but, at this point, he wasn’t sure that they would be followed. After all, Bucky, Steve, and the lawyers were ahead of the curve; Hydra didn’t know yet that they were suspicious of the government, of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s resources. They probably assumed that the best place to make a move on Steve was at their former safehouse. Matt had agreed with Bucky on that front and decided to keep an ear out for anyone entering the apartment. They’d be sorely disappointed to find a man in a devil suit with some very difficult questions. 

Bucky felt himself growing less and less stressed the further they were from Hell’s Kitchen and Manhattan. He’d always hated New York, even as the Soldier. Too many people, too many threats, always too much happening. Brooklyn wasn’t exactly countryside, but it was further from the hotspot they’d been stuck in for the past few days. Steve’s childhood neighborhood was mundane enough for them to blend, not excessively quiet, but also not as intensely crowded. He wondered how long it would be before he could return to the anonymity of Shelbyville.

“A-ha!” Steve pronounced, producing a spare key from the hollow-back of one of the address numbers where it was taped and then painted over. It had been a twenty-minute long search. Bucky respected such a convoluted hiding spot, even if he also knew that anyone interested enough in getting into this house would pick the lock. “Sam always hides it and never tells me where it is,” Steve explained, unlocking the door.

“So, when you said you have the keys,” Bucky started, more amused than frustrated, “you really meant that you knew there would be some well-hidden keys in the vicinity that you might be able to find." 

“Precisely,” Steve agreed with a sharp grin. He opened the door and Bucky followed him through the threshold. “I didn’t want anyone to get suspicious of an extra key on my keychain.”

“That’s actually really smart,” Bucky admitted, shutting the door behind him and dropping their bags near the door. A cursory glance around the house revealed it wouldn’t be too difficult to secure. Houses wedged on either side meant the only windows were at the front and back. There was a back door—that would need to be bolted shut—but the windows on the bottom floor already had bars on them. By the time Bucky had gotten his bearings and returned his attention to the blond, Steve was smiling at him through pursed lips, hands on his hips in the most childishly defiant pose Bucky had ever seen.

“I don’t like your insinuation that I’m not usually smart,” Steve retorted. Bucky stopped himself from laughing, but he couldn’t stop the full grin that took over his features.

“Nice big word, Captain America,” he shot back. The smile melted from Steve’s lips, and Bucky was about to apologize for using his military codename like an idiot when Steve tipped his head back and gave a small rueful laugh.

“Oh my god, _no_ ,” he groaned in embarrassment. “I know you said you read my file, but I was _hoping_ you wouldn’t see that.” Now Bucky did laugh, because how could he not? He tried not to imagine crossing the room, wrapping a hand around Steve’s waist, pressing his lips against the line of his neck, and teasing him just to feel a rumble of laughter against his chest.

“How could you _not_ want _everyone_ to know that you’re the captain of the _entire_ country?” Bucky said instead, though he did step a little closer.

“I hated that nickname,” Steve declared, finally looking back at Bucky, an absentminded smile at his lips despite the pout in his voice. “They wanted me to be some kind of propaganda monster, would you believe.”

“You? On posters and in recruitment brochures? _No_ ,” Bucky deadpanned, which earned him a bark of a laugh from Steve and a light shove against his shoulder. He burned at the touch.

“No, I mean, they appealed to my teenage vanity at first, but… it all just began to feel stupid once I went into the field,” Steve admitted, his voice turning serious. “There’s nothing photogenic about war. Nothing to be proud of. I couldn’t stand the idea of my reputation being used to bring more people into this fight that I didn’t even want to be part of in the first place.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed quietly. He’d seen enough of the propaganda in the ‘40s, had even fallen prey to it himself, just a bit, after he’d been drafted. It’s easy to call yourself a hero when you haven’t set foot on the battlefield yet, haven’t done unspeakable things, haven’t hardened yourself as every soldier must. Even before the scientists had tinkered around in his mind, he’d been broken. Maybe that was how they’d found a way in.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured, tacking on an awkward laugh. “I don’t mean to keep talking about all of this. Sometimes it feels like it’s all I can think about.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky insisted, offering a small smile. “I don’t really know how not to think about it, honestly. So you’re in good company.”

“In more ways than one,” he commented with a smile so genuine it hurt. God, Bucky was screwed, he was screwed, he was _screwed_. He needed this entire situation resolved before he did something stupid.

“I should secure the house,” he blurted, speed-walking upstairs before Steve could so much as open that beautiful mouth of his. _Shit_.

There were three small rooms and a cramped bathroom on the top floor. The bathroom had a tiny window even a cat would have trouble fitting through, to Bucky’s relief. The first bedroom was relatively spacious, considering the other rooms, but sparse. The bed was made up in white sheets and a thick charcoal comforter, stiff with lack of use. There was a small desk near the window—barred like the ones downstairs, Bucky noted—but it was empty apart from a blank legal pad (though it looked as though some sheets had been torn out; Bucky tried to turn off the spy part of his brain that told him perhaps the imprint of the last thing written would be on the top sheet now) and a ballpoint pen. A bomber jacket was slung over the desk chair, but there were no other signs of life. Bucky didn’t need all of those details, though; he felt in seconds that this wasn’t Steve’s room.

The next room down, though, was definitely Steve’s. Navy blue quilt on the bed, a pair of sneakers kicked into the corner near a cheap, old nightstand, remnants of crayon marks on the bottom of the wall, pock marks further up where posters and frames must have hung once, frayed curtains just light enough to let the last warm tendrils of the sunset in while keeping the outside world at bay. It felt lived-in and real, not like the last room. It felt like _Steve_. Bucky didn’t notice when his lips curled into a smile as he ran his hand along the doorframe where pencil marks showed Steve’s height over the years. He laughed a little when he saw the jump from “Steve 17” to “Steve 18” when he must have had the serum. He imagined how different “Steve 17” must have been—physically but also mentally, before the military, before war. He wished he could meet that Steve, as much as he liked this one, wished he could know what that Steve was like.

The door to the last room was shut, and Bucky hesitated before opening it. At some point, he’d stopped thinking so much about securing the house (he was willing to bet the window in this room was barred, too, like the others; the Rogers must have been keen on security to put bars on the second floor as well) and focused instead on seeing further inside Steve’s life. He had to open this door for security purposes, he assured himself, though he knew his curiosity was just getting the best of him. He decided, if worse came to worst, begging forgiveness was better than asking permission.

It took Bucky a moment to figure out what this last room was. It was much smaller than the other two, more like a walk-in closet than a real room, and there was no bed or desk. There was, though, an easel positioned near the window (barred, of course, Bucky was right) and a collection of paper and canvas strewn one the floor along the walls. A tall plastic shelving unit was filled with paints, pencils, pens, and art supplies Bucky couldn’t name without rifling through the drawers. It was Steve’s studio, he realized. He acknowledged he should turn back and close the door as he stepped gingerly into the room, careful not to touch a thing. Many of the canvases were blank, but there were papers pinned to the walls, sketches and watercolors, so gorgeous Bucky almost couldn’t believe Steve had made them himself. He knew that Steve had gotten into art school, knew that he just couldn’t pay, knew that the military had taken this fate and twisted it into something Steve had never wanted. _This_ was what Steve wanted, what he loved, and it was so clear that this was what he was meant to be doing.

Bucky startled at the sound of a car horn blaring somewhere outside and backed out of the room as quickly as he could without touching anything, pulling the door shut carefully and quietly. He knew that he should have reprimanded himself for losing sight of the objective (the Soldier part of his brain that usually hated when he veered off course in a mission was being strangely silent), but he could only think of Steve sitting in that tiny room, his fingers dark with charcoal or bright with acrylic paint, so focused on his art, on getting his beautiful visions on paper. Reluctantly, Bucky went back downstairs and found Steve frowning at the fridge.

“We should get pizza,” he decided, not even looking up when Bucky came in.

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, because Steve knew this neighborhood better than he did. Delivery was a terrible idea—someone was surely listening in on their phone calls, so calling a pizza place and telling them their new address would make the safehouse very unsafe—but a walk outside would give Bucky a chance to get a lay of the land. Also, pizza.

“Okay,” Steve repeated, shutting the fridge door and turning to Bucky with a smile. “I’m guessing we’re walking over?”  
  
“Glad to see you’re starting to understand how flying below the radar works,” Bucky quipped.

“More like you’re getting predictable,” Steve snorted, walking past Bucky to the door and not even _acknowledging_ Bucky’s pouty frown.

 

~~~

 

Bucky was willing to look past the fact that the people at the pizza place recognized Steve, which was frowned upon when anonymity is a priority, only because the pizza was _amazing_. His first bite had been an out of body experience. He didn’t even have the capacity to be embarrassed at the moan he emitted, because he would die a happy man eating this pizza. He almost didn’t notice the way Steve paused, pizza slice poised before his open mouth, toppings threatening to slide off at the break before Steve seemed to remember himself and bit in.

“That good, huh?” he asked around a mouthful. Bucky gave a closed-mouth grin and nodded. Steve snorted at that. “I loved this pizza growing up. The owner, or I guess the current owner’s father, paid me to draw the place, once.” Steve gave another laugh. “I’d actually done it a few times, in paintings and sketches, but I did a special one just for them. I think it’s still framed in the office, somewhere in the back.”

“Your art is amazing,” Bucky commented, then wished he could choke on his pizza. He wasn’t supposed to know that. He braced himself for anger from Steve, but only got a surprised, self-conscious chuckle.

“You saw that, then?” he asked, suddenly very interested in a spot on the floor.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Bucky said and took a bite so he didn’t say anything else bound to get him in trouble.

“It’s okay,” Steve assured him. He was quiet for a minute, but Bucky could see he was thinking. “I always loved charcoals. I know people prefer to look at paintings, but I always loved how charcoals were so simple but conveyed such complexities. Watercolors, too. They’re gentle, but, if used carefully, moving and nuanced and heartfelt. I got tired of acrylics pretty quickly. Too bold, too loud, too much. I especially loved doing portraits. I had a few classes where models came in and we got to sketch them. It was such a challenge—the human body is impossible,” he laughed, “—but I always loved drawing the truth at the heart of the models, not just the concrete image of them.” He finally looked up, blushing. “That must have sounded so stupid and pretentious, I’m sorry, I’m sort of a nerd.” Bucky wanted to kiss him. He took a long swig out of his water glass instead. 

“No,” he started after swallowing, “it’s poetic.” It really was. He would pay money just to hear Steve talk about art all day long. “I never thought of portraits like that.” Or at all, really.

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, “I could draw you like one of my French girls.” Bucky got the feeling that there was some reference in there that he didn’t quite understand, but, well—

“Okay,” he agreed, because he was an idiot who hated himself. Steve laughed again, loudly this time, but stopped when he saw the seriousness in Bucky’s expression. He looked at Bucky then, stared at him for a moment like he was considering him, deciding something about him. 

“Alright,” Steve decided. He took a last bite out of his slice of pizza and set the crust down.

“Now?” Bucky asked, suddenly wishing that a Hydra agent was busting the door down. No such luck. Steve was already standing up and spiriting the pizza box (Bucky was going to finish that box of pizza tonight and not even Steve could stop him) away into the kitchen.

“Now,” he called over his shoulder. He returned long enough to pass by Bucky and head upstairs, two steps at a time. Bucky glanced around the room, as though an escape hatch would suddenly appear and he could get himself out of this situation, because, oh god, he’d have to sit there or stand there and let Steve stare at him for god knows how long and— “Alright,” Steve sighed, returning to the living with a sketchpad, a tray of charcoal, and a rectangular black object. Bucky took another long gulp of water. “Let’s just get some better lighting.” He set his haul down on one of the chairs and brought a floor lamp a little closer to Bucky’s right side. Steve glanced down at him and smiled. “Perfect.”

“What should I do?” Bucky managed, proud his voice didn’t waiver. Right now would be a great time for some emotion-tamping courtesy of the Winter Soldier, who remained stubbornly absent.

“You can just sit there,” Steve assured. He picked up the rectangular shape—a speaker, it turned out—set it on the ground, and queued some music up with his phone. Bucky was thankful that the silence was broken, and that he didn’t have to be the one to break it. Steve sat down across from Bucky and opened his sketchbook.

“Should I…?” Bucky trailed off, unsure what a model was really supposed to do.

“Just be yourself. Be natural,” Steve instructed, and Bucky almost laughed at how difficult of a command that really was. Still, he’d brought this on himself and Steve deserved to draw without a reluctant model, so he stretched out, leaned back into the chair, and settled into what was closest to natural for him while avoiding eye contact with Steve as much as possible. “Good,” Steve murmured.

After that, it wasn’t actually that difficult to deal with the silence and the constant observation, if only because Bucky focused his mind entirely on the music and harnessed the power of meditation to avoid thinking about Steve’s eyes and hands and—and every other intrusive thought. He slipped into a kind of calm he hadn’t felt in a very long time; maybe, if he realized that in the moment, he would have been alarmed at how _easy_ all of this felt to him, how easy it was to forget about the trial, his job, his past, every bit of it. How easy it was to just _be_.

“You much of a dancer?” Steve asked lowly, not looking up from his sketchbook. Bucky hazarded a glance towards him, confused, and Steve pointed briefly at Bucky’s foot with the butt of his charcoal. Apparently, Bucky had been tapping his foot.

“Oh,” Bucky laughed nervously, looking back towards the stairs, where he’d been keeping his gaze. “Not anymore. Not if I can help it.” There was real silence, then, not even the hum of charcoal on paper, and Bucky looked back towards Steve. He looked the same as he had earlier, appraising Bucky, this time with a light smile curled at the edge of his lips. A dangerous smile, Bucky decided, one that made him want to cross the room and—

“Let’s dance,” Steve suggested. Bucky could feel his mouth opening and closing around an answer that didn’t exist, his cheeks burning like they had when he was a teenager. _No_ , he thought. _No. Just say no. It’s easy. N. O. No, no, n_ —

“Sure,” he murmured. Steve nodded, his eyes fixed on Bucky’s, but neither of them made a move. It felt painfully, wonderfully tense. Bucky hadn’t felt like this for so long, hadn’t felt this _human_. Steve was the only one who looked at him like he wasn’t a monster.

He should have been shocked or nervous when he stood up first, crossed the small space between them, and offered his hand to Steve—who smiled a little wider, took Bucky’s hand, and pulled him closer as soon as he was standing—but he wasn’t. He was calm, so calm, because he wanted so badly to have this moment. The music turned softer, slower, as though it knew how right this was and wanted to contribute in any way possible. Steve was so close to him, shifting so one hand was in Bucky’s, the other on his shoulder, the metal one hidden beneath his thin t-shirt and hoodie. For a moment, Bucky forgot to move, caught up in the intricacies of Steve’s eyes that he could only now see, but Steve didn’t seem to mind, swaying gently until Bucky caught up. It felt like time was submerged in honey, moving slowly, sweetly, no rush, so easy to savor, and Bucky savored every second of it. He wasn’t an artistic man, but he would study for years just to be able to sketch Steve’s face in this moment, to try to find the perfect color for the light pink in his cheeks, the perfect brushstroke to capture that campfire warm smile.

And when Steve glanced at Bucky’s lips, looked back at so genuinely, and leaned in with such tentativeness, the honey of time thickened, drawing the moment out so much Bucky thought he might die of want, and maybe he did, because he closed the gap between them and kissed Steve, earning a sigh that seemed to say “finally.” This he really hadn’t done in nearly a century, but it felt even better than he remembered. Maybe it was less the action, more the person. Steve kissed with such leisure, as though he had all the time in the world, and Bucky would have given him all the time if he could. He wished he could upend his life and drive off into the sunset with Steve. He wished he could forget about this case and Hydra and just stay in this moment forever. He wished he could undo his past, he wished he wasn’t a murderer, he wished he had never become a soldier—not even the Winter Soldier, just a regular ol’ soldier—in the first place, because maybe then he would deserve all of this.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky breathed as he pulled away, wincing as he disentangled himself from Steve and put distance between them. He couldn’t look at Steve. “This isn’t right, I—”

“Buck, don’t,” Steve begged, heartbreakingly vulnerable, and Bucky wanted to leave immediately because if he didn’t, he might never recover.

“ _Steve_ ,” he pleaded, still looking down. “I don’t deserve this. I spent decades doing horrible things, _unspeakable_ atrocities. I’m a murderer, I’ve killed so many people.” He hadn’t realized he had started tearing up until he breathed out a sob. “I may have even been involved in the program that hurt you, in killing the scientist who did it—can’t you see?” He finally looked up and had to stop at the devastation wrought on Steve’s face. He did this. He did this because he let himself be emotional. He let the Soldier go too long. He was weak, and he hurt the person who least deserved it. “I’m a monster.” Steve opened his mouth, tried moving forward, but Bucky shook his head and retreated upstairs—claiming the sparse grey room—before he had the chance to speak. He told himself that he was relieved when Steve didn’t follow him. He told himself this was for the best. He didn’t believe a word.

 

~~~

 

It was after two when Bucky realized he had forgotten to bolt the backdoor on the bottom floor of the house. He had heard Steve plod into the other bedroom a few hours earlier, so he assumed it was safe to go down. He tried not to think about the fact that he’d need to see Steve in a few hours anyway. Bucky thanked his training that he knew how to creep through a house almost silently, though tried to forget what he’d used that skill for in the past. He turned on a lamp in the living room and set out for the kitchen.

Before Bucky even made it two steps, though, he was stopped by a sheet of paper, torn from Steve’s sketchbook, set carefully on what had been Steve’s seat. It was Bucky. Bucky always imagined himself to look a little stoic, kind of frowny, what people nowadays called a resting bitch face. He’d been told many times since emerging from Hydra’s mind control that this was the case. If anything, he thought that was a positive attribute for his line of work. But this sketch wasn’t like that at all. Bucky didn’t know how he did it, but Steve had taken that expression and refined it in the charcoal etchings. Like there was a hint of a smile somewhere beneath the straight line of his mouth, like the crinkling at the edges of his eyes suggested happiness behind all that tension. Somehow, the lines of his face looked almost gentle, almost kind, almost content, and Bucky remembered all at once that Steve sketches the way he sees people beyond appearance, down to the heart of them. Steve didn’t see a monster when he looked at Bucky, he saw this man, the man Bucky desperately wanted to be.

It took him a moment to notice the small line of writing at the very bottom, penciled in on its own instead of in charcoal. 

_You’re a good man. You deserve forgiveness._

He had exactly three seconds to feel completely and utterly wrecked by those words before someone barged in through the backdoor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adkshgkdfjhg why am I like this
> 
> KUDOS, COMMENT (ESPECIALLY COMMENT, I LOVE COMMENTS, I DIE FOR COMMENTS, ANY KIND OF COMMENTS, WILL WRITE FOR COMMENTS), SUBSCRIBE, ALL THAT FUN STUFF <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "His words are quiet like stains are  
> On a table cloth washed in a river  
> Stains that are trying to cover, for each other  
> Or at least blend in with the pattern  
> Good is better than perfect  
> Scrub til your fingers are bleeding  
> And I'm crying for things that I tell others to do without crying"
> 
> ("Man of a Thousand Faces" by Regina Spektor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a couple days!! sorry for the cliffhanger last time around, but here's the update!!!! thank you so much for your support (WE HIT 60 KUDOS!!!!! SO COOL!!!!!!) and comments and all of that. I soooo appreciate you. OKAY! GO READ!
> 
> (also peep the lyrics in the chapter summary, like is that not very Bucky?)

To Bucky’s relief, he found his pistol snugly in its holster on his thigh and drew it in a blur. He didn’t like surprises, but he was always ready for them. He’d run towards a portion of wall separating the kitchen from the living room as soon as the door had slammed open, keeping his back flat to the wall and ready to attack. It was just one person, at least for now. He could hear their soft footsteps, almost silent and only just audible to Bucky’s ears thanks to his enhanced hearing. They moved slowly, cautiously, but every step was surefooted. Bucky knew better than to hold his breath as the footsteps drew closer, just made sure it was even and calm so that if he had to shoot, he wouldn’t miss. He never missed.

Bucky was always a little shocked by how quickly he moved as the Soldier. There was time, a very, very brief time, after he’d escaped Zola’s experiments and before he’d fallen right back into them, where Bucky had been halfway to super soldier. He’d always been a great shot and he’d had enough coordination not to get seriously wounded, but during that time, it was like he moved before his brain even caught up, like he didn’t even have to think when he aimed, just shot and hit. It was even more advanced after Hydra got their hands on him, but the Winter Soldier never thought about things like that, just shot first and asked questions never. Once he’d gotten his own body back, it was like his body moved without consulting his brain, which was immensely useful in fights and absolutely terrifying no matter the circumstances.

He didn’t think of any of that now, didn’t think of a thing as the intruder swiveled at the threshold between kitchen and living room and held a gun to Bucky’s head. He didn’t think as he ducked at exactly the same time as the heel of his metal hand collided with the intruder’s wrist, shocking them enough to drop the gun, which Bucky caught with his free hand. He didn’t think as he held both guns up, only to get a swift and powerful kick to his gut, enough to push him back and into the wall, giving him just enough distance to see the intruder in the light.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, lowering his weapons.

“Not quite,” Sharon quipped, gingerly grabbing the wrist he’d hit. Bucky put his pistol back into its holster and set her gun down on a nearby table, passing her to get to the kitchen. He felt like Steve was the type to keep ice packs ready in his freezer and smirked when he found a freezer full of them. He wrapped one in a paper towel and met Sharon in the threshold again.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, offering her the ice pack. She glared at him when she took it, but she was smirking, too. She winced as she put it to her wrist and Bucky frowned. He was pretty sure he hadn’t hit hard enough to sprain, but he still had trouble gaging the strength of his metal arm. “What’re you doing here?” 

“Well,” she started in a pointed tone that meant he was in trouble, “you didn’t check in for over twenty-four hours, which wasn’t terribly disconcerting until there was an explosion at the safehouse you were _meant_ to be in.” Bucky’s eyes widened and Sharon nodded. “Yeah, not very safe. You must have ditched your phone—” he had, it was from Sharon who had gotten it from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s supply “—so I had to do some digging to get to Steve’s but _finally_ I found it. Figured something had gone wrong, maybe he was taken, but,” she glared at him again, “it turns out you were just going off the grid without so much as a heads up.”

“Sorry,” Bucky repeated. He opened his mouth to explain but was stopped by a voice at the top of the stairs.

“Who are you?” Steve asked, his voice colder than Bucky had ever heard it. Sharon looked from Bucky to Steve then back to Bucky, and Bucky wanted to hate her because all she did was raise an eyebrow at him as though she knew everything that was going on immediately. 

“Steve, this is Sharon,” Bucky explained, reluctantly glancing over his shoulder. Steve’s harshness faded, but he still looked troubled. Bucky couldn’t blame him.

“Hi,” Sharon supplied in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

“You’re sure we can trust her?” Steve asked, and Bucky ignored the warm feeling that came with Steve’s trust in him, that Steve would trust Bucky even after everything.

“Yeah,” he nodded, then looked back at Sharon, who had crossed her arms and was trying very hard not to look offended and failing. “We’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Clearly.” She gave a sigh and glanced back into the kitchen. “We should fix the door first.”

“You broke my door?” Steve asked, his voice rising into a higher pitch as he frowned, and Bucky couldn’t stop a smirk at that.

 

~~~

 

Bucky and Sharon fixed the door (and bolted it down this time, not without some teasing from Sharon about Bucky being a “forgetful old man”) while Steve made tea and cleaned up the living room, which apparently also meant disappearing Bucky’s portrait. The adrenaline leaving his system, all Bucky could think about now was that sketch and the words Steve had put below it, even when he needed to be focused on the mission. He reminded himself sternly that that’s what this was: a mission, nothing more. After the scare with Sharon, he could feel the Soldier prowling around the back of his mind, and he almost leaned into it. He had to detach himself. He was getting too close. But he didn’t have to become the Soldier to do that. At least, he hoped not.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised,” he told Sharon once they were all seated in the living room. She squinted at him, but remained silent, letting him explain. “Steve’s unit wasn’t just dirty, they’re Hydra.” 

“Shit,” was her eloquent response. They gave her a second to process. “This is why the safehouses weren’t working out?” 

“Yes.” A panicked thought crossed Bucky’s mind. “You didn’t track us through S.H.I.E.L.D., did you?” When she shook her head, he sighed in relief.

“I’ve got some outside connections of my own,” she said, glancing around the house. “This was tricky to find. I wasn’t even sure it was the right place. It belongs to a Sam Wilson.”

“My friend,” Steve told her. “It’s my family home, but my mom died while I was in service, so the house went to me. I was already suspicious of S.T.R.I.K.E. so I made it sound like I didn’t want the place and sold it—for a dollar—to Sam. I lived in the military housing to keep up the act, but I always had this place to come back to.”

“Smart,” Bucky said without meaning to, and Steve smiled.

“I am known to have good ideas from time to time,” he joked. Bucky smiled back. When he glanced to Sharon, he noticed her looking between them, one eyebrow raised.

“Can Sam be trusted?” she asked instead of commenting on anything else.

“100%. He’s down in D.C. right now, so he’s not caught up on everything, but he knows about the trial,” Steve explained.

“Alright,” Sharon nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Bucky. “What else can you tell me?”

“I can confirm someone from Steve’s unit, Brock Rumlow, is Hydra, but I don’t know how far up the chain of command it goes. I don’t think Fury is involved—” 

“He isn’t,” Sharon decided firmly.

“—but,” Bucky tried to finish, only to be cut off again. 

“Can we know that for sure?” Steve asked. 

“Yes,” Sharon and Bucky said at the same time, then looked at each other in slight confusion.

“You first,” Sharon declared. 

“I know from a memory,” he explained. “I’ve been remembering,” he told Sharon, more softly, because Sharon had been the one to bring him to a therapist when he first got out, had been the one to practice meditation with him, had seen all of it and knew him better than most. Her expression softened into concern. “It must have been right before I got out.”

“You’ve never been able to remember that,” she commented, and Bucky nodded. It was true. His first memory as Bucky again was in a small cabin somewhere in rural Canada. He’d been so disoriented, so confused. Those first days were hazy, still, but he could access parts of him. The time—he didn’t know if it was days or weeks or months—before that, though, was completely blank. His last cohesive memory as the soldier was sometime in the 1990s, not long after the fall of the Berlin wall and, soon after, the USSR. He only remembered those events because he’d been involved in them, one way or another; his handlers didn’t really try very hard to keep him up to date on current events.

“I’m starting to, now. I remembered something from just before they gave Steve the serum,” he confessed. “And from sometime after, too.” 

“They gave me the serum in 2012,” Steve supplied helpfully, shooting Bucky a sympathetic look.

“That’s recent,” Bucky said, shocked.

“We found you in 2015,” Sharon said. “Bucky, if you were still around Hydra before that, you could have some vital memories stored somewhere in your head.” Bucky nodded in agreement.

“I keep remembering an American,” he explained. ““I can’t see his face, but he would meet with the Winter Soldier’s handler and update him on the project. I keep trying to remember who he is, but it’s like the Soldier doesn’t even remember.” 

“Hydra wasn’t above electrocution to clear your head,” Sharon mentioned ruefully, and Bucky winced, looking down. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Steve ball his hand into a white-knuckled fist. “What else do you remember?”

“Just fragments of things he said,” Bucky admitted. “He talked about Rumlow and how he wanted to be the one to get the serum in the first place, but, at least at that point, he understood the value of the mission. The American also mentioned that Fury wouldn’t be willing to go with their plan, so he’d work around him.”

“Oh my god,” Sharon breathed. It took a lot to shock Sharon. Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she had just realized.

“What is it?” Steve asked, a braver man than he. Sharon looked between them, eyes wide.

“It’s Pierce,” she murmured. “When S.T.R.I.K.E. was first put together, Fury assumed he’d have control of it because it was under S.H.I.E.L.D., but Pierce said he’d take, something about Fury handling the spy side of things and Pierce taking the more head-on fights with S.T.R.I.K.E. Sitwell reports directly to Pierce.” She stopped and shook her head, her expression still one of shock. “It’s Pierce. He’s Hydra.”

“We have to tell Matt,” Steve decided, already getting up and reaching for his phone. “I’ll be right back.” Sharon graciously waited until he was upstairs before turning to Bucky with one eyebrow raised.

“What?” Bucky asked, trying to play dumb even though he knew she would see through it instantaneously. She raised her eyebrow a little higher.

“Your boy is a great fighter, but he’s no spy,” she explained cryptically. “I saw that drawing of you before he hid it." 

“Ah.” Bucky decided not to elaborate.

“ _And_ ,” she continued, sounding put out, “there is clearly tension between you two, and not just the fun kind.”

“Ah,” Bucky repeated. He did not want to talk about this. He refused to talk about this.

“Well?” Sharon asked, in a way that made clear she was not going to budge. A long silence stretched between them, filled only by Steve’s light footsteps above. Finally, Bucky groaned. 

“Fine.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “My feelings may have become unprofessional and we might have kissed, but I told him that I can’t do that for a number of reasons and that’s that. Okay? Okay.”

“Hm.” Sharon crossed her arms, sat back, and pursed her lips. He hated when she pulled him apart like this. “Nope.” 

“Nope?” Bucky asked, laughing a little manically. “Sharon, I’m not lying.”

“No, I know that,” she said lightly, waving her hand as though she were waving the mere thought of him lying away. “I just disagree with your conclusion. ‘That’ is clearly not ‘that’.” She even added the air quotes.

“I—” Bucky started, then groaned again. “I just think it’s a bad idea.”

“Because you’re a professional,” Sharon supplied. 

“Yes!”

“No,” Sharon scoffed. “What else?”

“What--!” Bucky felt like he was about to burst. He took a deep breath. This was Sharon. He could talk to Sharon. He would explode if he didn’t talk to someone. Also, Sharon might ask Steve if he didn’t tell her, which was a terrible idea. “Okay. Okay. It’s just—he’s so good, Sharon. He doesn’t even try and he’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” 

“This sounds like a good thing,” Sharon cut in, but her tone was kinder.

“It is. Just… not for me,” he whispered, looking down at his hands. “I’ve done so much bad. I can’t make up for it. I’m trying, but I never will, I know that. I’m a killer. I’m a _monster_.” He sighed and shut his eyes. “I don’t deserve him.” It was quiet for a moment, and then he heard Sharon’s soft footsteps and felt her hands curl around his. When he opened his eyes, she was squatting in front of him, smiling softly at him.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you are a good man,” she told him firmly. “You are a good man who was used for bad, but who never would have done bad if given the choice. You were strong enough to see the evil even through torture and mind control, and you pulled yourself out of it. The courts found you innocent, the public found you innocent, everyone around you sees how innocent you are. So open your eyes and see it for yourself.” She reached up and gently wiped a tear from his cheek. “If you tell anyone about this, I will ship you off to Antarctica.” Bucky snorted a laugh at that, and she grinned.

“Thanks, Sharon,” he murmured. “I just—”

“If you’re about to say something mean about yourself, don’t,” she commanded. “You are a good man. Just keep repeating that, like the mantras we used to do with yoga.”

“You do yoga?” Steve asked from the stairs. Bucky gave Sharon a tight, murderous smile while she returned to her seat, laughing.

“What did Matt say?” Bucky said instead, because he was not talking to Steve about the many phases of recovery he’d been through.

“He was silent and Foggy swore a lot,” Steve recalled. “But they’re doing what they can. We need evidence that Pierce is behind this for anything to hold up in court.”

“I can call Stark,” Sharon suggested. “He’s trustworthy and he’s hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D. a couple times. I’m sure he’ll be up for it again.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, then looked at Bucky hesitantly. “Maybe,” he began, but cut himself off.

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t want to ask,” Steve admitted. Sharon and Bucky waited patiently (Bucky had learned as the Soldier that when you give someone silence, they try desperately to fill it; Sharon was the only one it didn’t work on, because she’d learned the trick as a kid apparently) for Steve to continue. “Maybe—maybe if you meditate again, you might find something.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, pleasantly surprised that that was all Steve was asking. It wasn’t fun to dip into that part of his mind, but he’d figured he would be doing it again for this mission. He did find it endearing that Steve didn’t even want to ask him to do it, that he was doing everything he could to shield Bucky from that pain even if it meant jeopardizing the trial. “Of course I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve said quickly, stepping a little closer to Bucky and then almost comically stepping back again, as though he’d forgotten himself.

“I want to,” Bucky assured him, adding a small smile for reinforcement. He looked back at Sharon. “Remember when we used to do the guided meditations?”

“Yeah,” Sharon nodded. “When you were still trying to remember things from before the war. Do you think that would help you now?” Bucky nodded.

“Could you do that with me again? Tonight, or tomorrow morning?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, but I should deal with Stark and the hacking,” she explained with a frown. “Our best bet is going to S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ in D.C.”

“I can help,” Steve volunteered. “I don’t know what to do, but… I can learn.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky started, but was silenced by Sharon’s raised eyebrow, a reminder of her lecture earlier.

“I want to,” Steve echoed. “Can you teach me?”

“I have the information on my phone,” Sharon supplied helpfully, pulling out her phone and tapping away. “I’m sending it to you now. Bucky can fill you in on the rest.” When she looked back up, she smiled at the two of them and shook her head. “Alright, I’m leaving,” she announced with a sigh, getting up and re-holstering her pistol. “Keep your heads down and stay safe till this is all over.” She headed towards the door but stopped in front of Bucky. “You’re a target now, too.”

“That a threat?” he quipped. She pursed her lips, but she was still smiling. 

“Get a burner phone and call me,” she instructed. “Wish me luck!”

“With Hydra or with Stark?” Steve shot back, drawing surprised looks from both of them before Sharon broke out in laughter, cut off only by the door closing behind her. Steve looked back at Bucky, still in shock. “What? I can be funny!”

“Clearly,” was the best Bucky could do, cracking a smile. Steve grinned too, but that faded after a moment. 

“About earlier—” he started, but Bucky cut him off.

“Don’t,” he told him. “Please.” Steve looked ready to fight but nodded instead.

“How about I make more tea and you can catch me up on the guided meditation thing?” Steve asked, already grabbing the Bucky’s mug from a table. 

“Thanks,” Bucky murmured. He watched Steve go and wondered how he’d managed to make everything so complicated so quickly. _Of course_ it was him creating the drama. If he hadn’t taken this mission, if he’d never stepped into Steve’s life, Steve never would have felt like this. Even when he tried to do the right thing, he was ter—

He cut his thoughts off with a sigh. Sharon was right. Sharon was always right. He closed his eyes and remembered what she’d told him, how she’d called him innocent, and he forced himself to repeat the mantra. _I am a good man. I am a good man. I am a good man. I am a good man. I am a good man._

Maybe, eventually, he’d even believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHATTA SASS AND FEELS FEST, MY DUDES. this was so tough to write. I have about six different versions of this chapter with wildly different endings, but I liked this one best <3 also!!! more sharon. love me some sharon. also, be blessed with the image of Bucky and sharon doing yoga
> 
> PLEEEEEASE KUDOS AND COMMENT (Y'ALL A+ WORK COMMENTING ON LAST CHAPTER, LET'S KEEP THAT ENERGY, I VERY MUCH APPRECIATE IT AND AM MOTIVATED BY IT) AND SUBSCRIBE AND ANYTHING ELSE YOU CAN THINK OF !!!!!! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm going hunting  
> I'm the hunter  
> I'll bring back the goods  
> But I don't know when"
> 
> ("Hunter (feat. John Mark McMillan)" by RIAYA, Björk cover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY FOLKS, thanks so much for all the comments and kudos!! we're almost at 70 kudos and we hit 45 subscriptions!!!!! awesome!!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> just so you know, there's a couple mentions of violence and death this chapter, but it's not graphic and none of it is major character death or anything, so just be wary of that!!
> 
> also, go listen to the song in the chapter summary because it's very eerie and very winter soldier

Bucky and Steve sat cross-legged across from each other on the living room floor, furniture pushed towards the wall so the space was as open as a cramped Brooklyn house would allow. They had taken the rest of the night to sleep—or to sleep as much as either of them could, which wasn’t much—and left the entire Saturday free for… this. Bucky tried not to be nervous, tried not to dread it, but that was difficult. This was uncharted territory for him. He didn’t know if he wanted to see into these lost decades, but he had to. For Steve. 

“Alright,” Steve breathed. He was trying to appear calm, but his right knee was bouncing, and his fingers were tapping an uneven rhythm on his left knee. Bucky smiled gently. He’d need Steve to be grounded throughout the process, a tether for him.

“Let’s take some deep breaths together,” Bucky suggested. Steve nodded sharply and they both closed their eyes. “Four in. Hold for four. Four out.” 

“Hey, I thought I was the guide here,” Steve joked, but only after they had done a set of breathing. Bucky peaked an eye open and found Steve doing the same. They both ended up snorting.

“This is serious!” Bucky protested, squeezing his eyes shut even as he laughed.

“Okay,” Steve agreed unconvincingly. “Okay,” he tried again. “Let’s breathe, then.”

As ridiculous as it was, Bucky felt the tension ease away. Meditation was a reflex for him at this point, but it still always took some work to calm down when he was trying to remember. Now, it was like he was already just about there, and all it took was being an idiot with Steve. They breathed together for a few minutes, and Bucky concentrated on letting the thoughts slip away from his mind little by little, until all that was left was the steady inhale and exhale.

“Ready?” Steve asked softly.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. It was still quiet for a moment and Bucky resisted opening an eye again.

“You’re sure you want to start here?” Steve checked hesitantly. Bucky sighed. He’d thought for a while about the best entry point for information. Pierce was probably a dead end; he seemed careful enough to avoid saying anything too significant around the Winter Soldier, and Bucky couldn’t even see his face. The only other lead they had was Erskine. Being assigned a mission to kill him was Bucky’s most recent memory, one directly related to Steve’s case. They had to start there. Steve had protested that it would be too intense to start there, but they didn’t have time to ease in.

“I’m sure,” Bucky answered, keeping his voice firm. Steve let a few breaths go by before he began.

“Okay. Focus on Dr. Abraham Erskine.” Steve kept his voice steady and calm, just like they’d practiced. Bucky let himself be proud for a moment before clearing his mind again and finding the staircase descending into the shadows of his mind. “With every step down, remember him.” He was halfway down. He could smell salt water. “Remember your mission.” He felt cool wind combing through his hair. “Remember—” Steve hesitated again, but Bucky didn’t falter. “Remember the Winter Soldier.”

 

~~~

 

_Porto Venere. Autumn. The Winter Soldier arrives on his motorcycle, weaving through what little tourist traffic there is._

_Footage in La Spezia caught Erskine boarding a ferry two days ago. CCTV is spotty outside of large Italian cities. Motorcycles are even rarer._

_The Winter Soldier goes by foot, shouldering through the crowds packing the cramped space between thin rows of colorful apartments. His training tells him to ignore the suffocating feeling in his chest, but his training has been failing lately._

_He stops suddenly when a small boy trips and falls hard on the cobblestone in front of him. The crowd pushes the Winter Soldier, fighting against the blockage, but the Winter Soldier does not move. He could step around—or even over—the boy. He should do that. He has a mission. His whole life is his mission.  But he just stays there._

“What happens next?” Steve probed, his voice dim at the edge of Bucky’s consciousness.

_The Winter Soldier bends down and offers the boy his hand. The boy looks up at him, a thin drop of blood dripping from his nose, and there is fear in his eyes. The Winter Soldier almost withdraws, almost stands and leaves and lets the crowd trample him, but he doesn’t. The boy takes his hand and, wobbling, gets to his feet. The Soldier stands, too, ready to continue, but is stopped when he hears a sniffle and feels something small and warm curl around his hips. The child hugs him, looks up with a battered smile, then runs back into the crowd._

_The Soldier doesn’t move. The Soldier knows he has a mission, but suddenly he can’t remember it, and then he can’t remember anything. He stands still in the middle of the path, like a statue, like the shell of a person with no insides._

“Deep breaths,” Steve reminds Bucky. “Four in, hold for four, out for four.”

_Siberia. 1991. Everything is falling apart. The USSR is heaving its dying breaths. Hydra, too, is panicked, its power bleeding out. The Winter Soldier doesn’t ask questions when he’s given his new mission. He never asks questions._

_“New objective. Locate and eliminate Howard and Maria Stark.”_

_The Winter Soldier does not have a problem finding them. Their car crashes. Maria Stark is eliminated upon impact. Howard Stark tries to get out, tries to get help, and then he sees the assassin. He sees the Winter Soldier._

_“Sergeant Barnes?” he murmurs weakly._

_The Winter Soldier eliminates him brutally. He has heard that name and he knows it doesn’t bring anything good. But with every punch, the Winter Soldier slips further and further away. Howard’s body dropped to the pavement, followed by the Winter Soldier’s knees._

_No. Not the Winter Soldier. Bucky._

“Buck, stay with me. Breathe.” 

_It takes an entire team to haul him back to Sibera, and twelve of them go down in the fray. Bucky is angry. Bucky is confused. Bucky can’t stop crying. Bucky can’t stop screaming. As the Soldier’s body killed Howard, Bucky’s mind was reeling. He saw it all. He felt it all. And he could do nothing. They strap him down in the lab. He breaks his restraints three times before they get him trapped. He keeps looking down at his hands like they’re dripping with blood._

“Stop. You’re off path, Bucky.”

_They shock him. They shock him. They shock him and shock him and shock him until they aren’t even sure he’s functional anymore, and then they stick him in cryo before they can find out. It takes a decade before they thaw him out again. The Winter Soldier is a clean slate._

“Erskine. Abraham Erskine. Porto Venere. Autumn. Go back to the mission.”

_Porto Venere. Erskine. The Winter Soldier isn’t in the streets anymore. He’s following Erskine outside of the city, along the cliffsides. The scientist is running, but he keeps slipping and tripping over his own feet. The Winter Soldier doesn’t even rush, just keeps stalking forward. Erskine is tiring himself out._

“Good,” Steve soothed. “Keep with him.” 

_Erskine is on his back, futilely scooting away until the Soldier stops him, pressing a boot against his chest and pinning him down. The only light illuminating them is the reflection of the moon in the Gulf of Poets. Erskine is breathing hard, so loud it’s practically all the Winter Soldier can hear. It would be easy to kill him now, simple to just reach down and snap his neck. He doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything._

_“I won’t beg for my life, if that’s what your waiting for,” Erskine tells him. His voice is firm but there is terror in his eyes. “I know enough about you to know it won’t save me.”_

“What’re you waiting for?”

 _The Winter Soldier doesn’t know what’s happening. He can picture killing Erskine. He’s playing out all the ways he could do it. It doesn’t matter how he does it, just that he does it. But it’s like his body won’t let him, like he’s not in control anymore. He can feel his hand—the one made of skin and bone and humanity—shaking, even as he balls it into a fist. Erskine notices, his eyes flicking searchingly to the fist, then looking back up into the Winter Soldier’s eyes in shock._

_“Mr. Barnes?” he whispers, cautious._

“Deep breaths, Buck. One. Two. Three. Four.”

 _Bosnia. 2014. He’s chasing a Hydra traitor, a man planning to defect to some rebel group hidden in the Dinaric Alps, not far from Vlašić._

“Wait,” Steve breathed.

_Men like him never got far. They were always met by the Winter Soldier. The man tries to scale down the steep and rocky mountainside. It’s a long fall. It’s dangerous. It’s easy for the Winter Soldier to slide down the side, though. He ignores the reflexive tightening in his gut as he sees the drop, just keeps going and going until he drops onto the thin path in front of the traitor. He grabs him by the throat and is just about to squeeze when he hears gunfire below._

_The Soldier looks down and finds the compound, the rebel hideout. It’s being attacked. For a second, he wonders if it’s a coincidence, but then the Soldier sees him, his eyesight just good enough to pick out the blond hair, the broad shoulders, the tacky blue star-spangled uniform._

“Bucky…”

_He knows. He doesn’t need to see anything else, he just knows. That’s the other super soldier. That’s his equal, that’s his opposite, that’s his double. The Soldier doesn’t feel, but he thinks, and his first thought is that he’s not alone._

_And then the other soldier looks back at him and there’s nothing else the Winter Soldier can do. He can’t close the distance between them. He can’t breach mission protocols. He snaps the traitor’s neck, lets his body fall limp, and leaves the mountaintop. The returns to his handlers. He gives them the mission report. He recounts every detail. He doesn’t tell them about the other soldier. He has to remember this time._

“Okay, we’re straying too far,” Steve said, his voice wavering. “What happened with Erskine?”

_The apartment is tiny. The stove doesn’t work. The windows are barred. The mattress on the bed is dirty. The Winter Soldier knows that it is the best he can do._

_“I don’t understand,” Erskine says slowly, looking around. “Hydra wants—” The Soldier winces and Erskine stops._

_“Hydra wants you dead,” the Soldier finishes._

_“But you don’t,” Erskine adds hesitantly. The Soldier does not answer. “You’re sure it’s safe here?”_

_“Yes,” the Soldier lies. He cannot know if it is safe or not. Erskine will always be in danger._

_“In America?” Erskine questions, skeptical._

_“Yes,” he repeats mechanically._

_“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, I can’t get a job without identification or—”_

_The Winter Soldier pulls out an envelope. It was his job to observe, and he had seen everything, even the things Hydra didn’t want him to._

_“Passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, medical card,” the Soldier listed off. “Arthur Schmidt. 54. Immigrated from Stuttgart. Electrician.”_

_“I’m more of a biologist,” Erskine protested, but the Soldier gave him a hard look, “but I suppose learning new skills is an important part of life.” The Soldier gives a curt nod. Erskine sighs, moves towards the couch but thinks better of actually sitting on it. “Indiana, then.”_

“Okay, Bucky, let’s start coming back.”

_The Winter Soldier is about to leave because there is nothing more for him here, but Erskine clears his throat._

_“I can help you,” he says. “Winter Soldier. Sergeant Barnes.”_

“What?" 

 _Canada. 2015. The Winter Soldier knows that it is only a matter of time before he loses himself, before the boy gasping for air beneath the surface comes back to consciousness. He finds a place deep in the woods, far from the rest of humanity, and he waits. He chops wood. He hunts enough to survive. He reads everything he can on James Buchanan Barnes._

_He’s only ever caught glimpses of him in cryo or sometimes during electrocution sessions. Tidbits of memories that didn’t belong to him. But he wants to know now._

_Barnes is a beloved war hero. He’s known for his sacrifice to his country, for giving his own life to save thousands and help turn the tide of the war. His comrades set up foundations and scholarships in his name. There are exhibits on him in museums, sections on him in history books, biographies written about him._

_When the Winter Soldier goes to bed each night, he sleeps peacefully. He is not afraid to switch places with Barnes. Barnes was a good man. He would do good in the world. He would right the wrongs the Winter Soldier had done._

_Barnes deserved a life away from war and violence. He deserved freedom. He deserved happiness._

_The Winter Soldier closes his eyes. He sleeps and dreams of a better world._

 

~~~

 

Bucky was breathing hard when he realized he was back in the present, back in Brooklyn, back to himself. His cheeks were tight and wet with tears. He was gulping in breaths faster than he could let them out. Strong arms held him tight, a hand carding through his hair. 

“It’s okay,” Steve whispered. “It’s okay, Bucky. You’re okay. I’m here. It’s okay.”

“Steve,” he breathed, but it came out a pained sob. Steve pulled away briefly, just enough to look in Bucky’s eyes, then sighed in relief and hugged him close again.

“I was so worried,” Steve confessed, voice muffled in Bucky’s shoulder. “You were breathing so fast and you stopped responding.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky murmured. His breathing was slowing, and he found himself wrapping his arms around Steve, tentative at first, then tightly.

“What happened? I only heard the last bit with Erskine,” Steve said. Bucky nodded slowly, remembering.

“I saw the Winter Soldier’s last days,” Bucky confessed, his voice cracking. “He knew what he was doing when he gave up control. He… He _wanted_ me to have control. He read everything about me and—” Bucky paused, letting out a sob, “—and he thought I was a good man.”

“You are, Bucky,” Steve insisted. “You are.”

Bucky let the memory wash over him again. The Soldier had admired Bucky’s sacrifice, but he hadn’t even realized he was sacrificing himself for Bucky. No, not just for Bucky: for a better life. He didn’t want Bucky to take any of the responsibility for what the Soldier had done. It was like the Soldier was hitting him on the head with that memory, telling him that he’d been wasting his time with guilt and shame and self-hatred, and Bucky… all Bucky wanted to do was apologize and make things right and—and he knew just how to start.

He pulled away from Steve—which took some effort, considering Steve’s arms were essentially a vice grip around him—and smiled gently. Steve had just enough time to look confused, to open his mouth to ask a question, before Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve again, letting himself enjoy the shocked noise Steve made, the slide of Steve’s tongue against his, the tightening of Steve’s hand in his hair. Bucky made a silent promise to himself and to the Winter Soldier within him that he would take more time to enjoy things, but he broke the kiss a moment later.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, the bliss in his expression fading to concern.

“Nothing,” Bucky assured him, leaning in and pressing another chaste kiss to his lips. “Nothing,” he repeated, “just that we’ve got a witness, and he needs to get here before Monday.” 

“You know where Erskine is?” Steve asked, a mixture of excitement and determination in his features, and Bucky willed himself not to lean in and kiss Steve again. “Indiana isn’t a huge state, but it’s also not tiny.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed with a smug grin, “but the Winter Soldier put him right where I’d find him. I just had to know I was supposed to be looking for him.” Steve’s grin widened. Bucky wanted to frame pictures of Steve’s smile all over the house. “Oh,” he added, doing his best to stay on task, “and you should give your pal Sam a call. We’re going to need him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> that's all I've got to say about that
> 
> ALIRGHT!!!! thanks for reading another chapter, be sure to kudos and comment and subscribe and tell your friends and everything else <3 <3 <3


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